Skyrim Shorts
by Lord of the Gauntlets
Summary: A series of short stories, ranging from 100 to 3,000 words in length per chapter, revolving around the Dragonborn. Featuring Sylgja, minor OCs, children, the murder of innocents, Lydia being annoyed, and balancing healthy family lifestyles in the middle of a war. Otherwise known as chaos.
1. Chapter 1: Full House

**Author's note: This is my first story on this site, though not my first piece of writing. I will be doing other chapters for this if I can actually figure out how to work the site, so that will be in the future. Any additional information on this story or any in the future should be in my bio!**

 **Disclaimer: The story is, naturally, mine. However, the game is not.**

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The house has been getting rather crowded as of late. Lydia notices, and disapproves, but unfortunately she can't really do anything about it. Aranel just seems to attract people, and pets as well, and though Lydia wants to do something about it, she can't object. Aside from her complaints about footprints, and the constant bumping into people, it's not that bad.

It started innocently enough with Aranel bringing home some elf. Lydia had clucked her tongue, but hadn't done anything then. After all, it was only _one_ elf. And who was she to question her mistresses decisions? The elf could sleep downstairs or something. But then, true to fashion, things had started to escalate.

Not long after the elf, she had brought home some dirty _child_. Not even a respectable child at that, just some dirty little girl who had been begging near the Gildergreen. And to top it all off, Aranel adopted her. Lydia still can't really object, though she can't say that she likes the banging of the doors at all hours or the constant muddy footprints.

It really only gets worse from there. Aranel somehow finds a talking dog, and brings it home, and though she says that he's only staying until she can find his mistress, Lydia knows better. Then there's the other child. Just a few days after the dog, Lydia finds out that Aranel has somehow found another little beggar, and is bringing them home. She's not sure where this one is from. It's one of those big, winter cities, that she has never gotten to see, and probably never will. So, naturally, when Aranel is supposed to be visiting the honorable Greybeards (or something like that, she can't keep track), she instead brings home yet another family member.

At this point, they have herself, the elf, two kids, a dog, and Aranel, and the house is practically splitting at the seams. That isn't a bad thing, she keeps reminding herself, but… still. She liked it better when Aranel, herself, and that annoyingly silent elf were the only ones in the house. But it brings Aranel happiness, and whatever pleases her mistress will please her. Hopefully.

And then one of the kids brings home a fox. But that is a story for another day.


	2. Chapter 2: Káno

**Author's note: THIS IS IMPORTANT. I have two characters I primarily play as. One is Aranel (female), the character in the first chapter, and the second is** **Káno (male), the character in this one. I tend to write as either one or the other, which may lead to a little confusion. However, I always write in third person, so the character I'm talking about will always have their name stated. Hope that clears up any confusion!  
**

 **Disclaimer: Not my game.**

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Faendal has seen a lot of things in the time that he's been in Skyrim. After all, he is an elf, and as such has been around for twice as long as most humans. That's actually one of the reasons he is in love with Camilla, though Talos forbid anyone catch him saying that. Her love of life, and desire to live life in the moment and to its fullest is something that, as an elf, he can relate to on a fundamental level. So he loves Camilla. He had decided to spend the rest of her short lifespan with her, but then Káno showed up, and he blew that all to bits. Káno, who is infuriatingly self-sacrificing, intelligent and far too ambitious to survive in a land like Skyrim for more than a week.

Maybe that's the reason he followed Káno to Windhelm and beyond.

Once upon a time, when he had only known their small town, and Camilla, he would have said that adventuring was for the stupid. He might still say that. But now he knows that it's also for the incredibly brave, the kind-hearted, the strong, and the tough. And while he doesn't fit in all those categories, Káno most certainly does.

Once upon a time, he might have cut all ties with Káno the second that the other man had helped him win Camilla. Once upon a time he might have never come along on this crazy, extensive adventure. He might have even never thought about Káno again.

Unfortunately for him, (or is it the other way around?), Káno had absolutely no intention of having Faendal drift away, and the human has only pulled him into this madness which he calls adventure even further. And Faendal is surprised to find that, for once, he doesn't care.

So he puts up with the human's antics, is there to help him when they go off to fight, carry his stuff when the hoarding thing becomes an actual problem, and have Káno's back when he decides to tick off all the city guards. After all, this uniquely stupid and brilliant man is the only person outside of Camilla to see him for what he actually is; alone. So if he notices the fact that Káno refuses to let him out of his site, even if it means not taking a shortcut, is willing to jump in front of an arrow or spell for him, and would probably walk off a cliff if it meant helping him, Faendal just sighs and is there to patch him up.


	3. Chapter 3: Aranel

**Author's note: Switching back to Aranel for the time being. I've been playing as her a lot, since she's a harder character to portray for me. On a related topic, you might have noticed that I've been writing from Faendal's perspective. I have a tendency to use third person to portray my PC, and it's easiest to do that from the follower's perspective. So you'll be hearing from him a lot. He's also a fairly neutral character, so he provides an objective POV, which is fun to write in comparison to, say, a Stormcloak, who would be very biased. The more you know!  
For anyone who doesn't remember Faendal, and, like me, is too lazy to go look him up, he's an elf follower that you get after completing a side quest. I don't remember the name, but it's short, sweet, and earns you one of two followers.  
Also, my policy on pairings is in my profile. Just saying.**

 **So yeah. On with the story!**

 **Disclaimer: STILL not mine.**

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"So… have you lived here a long time?"

Faendal sighs, and decides to go wait in The Bee and Barb. Aranel is speaking to Mjoll the Lioness, and it's blatantly obvious that she will be awhile. Aranel has this weird tendency to flirt with everyone in town, and despite his attempts to pry her away from the nearest object of her attractions, she always ends up gravitating towards someone. This time it's Mjoll, last time it was some court wizard, the time before last, some Stormcloak soldier and so on.

It has gotten to the point where Faendal has given up on trying to get her to focus on whatever they are doing at the time, and has started sitting back and silently laughing at her newest conquest's bewildered expression when they realized exactly what is going on. Mjoll is most obviously not interested, and so, after a few attempts, Aranel makes her way back to Faendal sporting a large frown and a somewhat disheartened attitude. And before he knows it, she's whirlwinding away again, this time latching onto some Argonian with a skooma addiction. He merely shakes his head, and follows along.

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The Argonian turns out to be more trouble than she's worth, in his eye, though Aranel obviously doesn't think so. In the end, they had to clear out an entire illegal skooma base, as well as about eleven people that he's sure they would never have had to deal with if Aranel hadn't gotten involved... _again_. And it wasn't even worth it, seeing as they have yet to even get a reward for the entire operation. To top it all off, when Aranel went to visit the Jarl, she managed to acquire yet another thing to do, requested by the scatterbrained court wizard. Of course. However, he can't really fault her for becoming involved in others problems. Aranel seems to have a heart big enough to encompass the whole world and then some, and though she's willing to kill, it is only ever for the sake of others that she does so.

This single minded loving does lead to some interesting scenarios, though. For example, just yesterday, the entire market of Whiterun got to witness Lydia throwing an absolute _fit_ over the state the house was in when she got back. And shortly before that, he got to see her try to free a werewolf from where it was imprisoned (That proved to be a bad idea, but it was still amusing. After all, how many times in his life will he get to witness that?). However, for all the scenarios with… less than desirable outcomes, there is always at least one good one. And that is something that he has never seen before. In this land plagued with misery, war, politics, and legend, all that he has ever seen come out of the incessant war is even more strife. Between neighbors, friends, and even brothers. But then Aranel comes in and somehow turns all that upside down.

Faendal doesn't think he had ever met someone who was legitimately kind before she came. Which, when he thinks about it, is something to mourn. Aranel is a light in their world of darkness, and perhaps their savior. Only The Greybeards know the answer, and maybe, just maybe, she does as well. However, Faendal still wonders. Is she the Dragonborn because she is kind? Or is she kind because she is the Dragonborn?

He is inclined to believe both.


	4. Chapter 4: On skooma

**Author's not: Not including this note, this chapter is exactly 100 words! Which, I believe, makes it a drabble. So here y'all go. My attempt at writing under a word limit. I'd love any prompt ideas for this, so drop a review or PM me if you have an idea! Criticism and complements are welcome as well!**

 **Disclaimer: My words, their story.**

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Skooma, she finds, is far more trouble than it's worth. Not only is it highly illegal, she also never drinks the stuff, and as a result, it is rendered useless. She picked a ton up from that big skooma bust a while back, and it has been sitting in her bag for months now, collecting dust. And it's not like she can sell it either. Only a few merchants will buy. After all, not just anyone buys skooma, and although she bends the law on several occasions, she's mostly never broken it. Mostly. So the skooma stays, and collects dust.


	5. Chapter 5: Hoarding issues

**Author's note: Reviews and criticism (or compliments) are always appreciated! You don't even have to log in or submit an email, just click the button at the bottom and type a bit...**

 **Disclaimer: Not my game.**

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Káno has a slight hoarding problem. Just a _slight_ problem. It's not like he carries around about 300 pounds of weaponry, food and potions on a daily basis. And it's not like he has about 1,000 more pounds of random junk sitting in a chest at home. The only time it becomes a real problem, he reflects, is when Lydia visits his house near Falkreath. And wow, when she does…

He didn't know that someone's face could turn that particular shade of red, but apparently about five minutes of yelling without stopping for a breath will do that to someone. He's rather impressed, actually. Even The Companions don't turn that shade, which is impressive, considering the sheer amount of hijinks that he manages to get up to while in Jorrvaskr. He remembers, offhandedly, the time that he dropped bottle of skooma (quite by accident), in Vilkas's chambers. Vilkas was convinced that it was him, but as he had no evidence, the best he could do was hide it, and glare at Káno for months afterwards. Káno avoided him for a bit, and after a couple weeks, nobody was speaking about the "Case of the Mysterious Appearing Skooma", though he will occasionally hear the name, specifically when Farkas has been in the mead hall.

The hoarding thing, on the other hand, is not resolved as easily. Lydia seems to finally have reached her breaking point, and she is threatening to kick him out of _his own house_ if he doesn't sell some of his stuff. Of course, the fact that the other day, Lucia somehow managed to completely _mutilate_ the training dummy, (which, he notices, only Lydia uses), with one of his weapons has nothing to do with that. Right now, thankfully, only Lydia and Lucia are typically at home when he's in Whiterun, since he takes Faendal with him. Unfortunately for Lydia, who seems to enjoy peace and quiet, he's seen Lucia taking interest in some of the sketches of Frostbite spiders in his notebook. There's absolutely _no_ way that he's ever going to let one of those monstrosities live in his house, though, so she has nothing to worry about. For now. He might just allow a mudcrab though…

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Surprisingly enough, Lydia doesn't have anything to say when Káno lets Lucia keep the rabbit, but personally he thinks that it's less that she has become more tolerant, and more that she has a soft spot for fuzzy animals. After all, in a place like Skyrim, small, fluffy (alive) animals are fairly hard to come by, and don't live long. There's some sort of unspoken code where nobody kills a rabbit or a fox unless they're _really_ hungry, and nobody _touches_ the tame animals. (The last one might have something to do with the fact that attacking an animal is liable to get you killed in Whiterun. Apparently it's worth capital punishment?).

So Lydia lets Lucia keep the rabbit, and if Káno ever walks in on her petting it and cooing to it, he keeps his mouth shut. Oddly enough, after that, she doesn't seem to have a problem with his weapon hoarding. He wonders why.


	6. Chapter 6: Sylgja

**Author's Note: Pure, indulgent filler. Skip if you aren't okay with lack of plot, animals, Lydia being a bit of a mother hen, or getting married. Thanks you, that 1 lady, for reviewing! It's always great to hear back from a reader! Yes, I do indeed like Lydia. She's not my follower, so she doesn't bother me, and the only thing against her is that she creepily sits in my room at night. The Dog, on the other hand, is WAY worse, so I guess I'll have to write something about him now. But how to complain without breaking the fourth wall...**  
 **Also for my readers who don't understand Nordic pronunciation, or who don't play with the volume up (I confess to that) the "J" in words like "Jarl" and "Jorrvaskr" is always pronounced like a "Y". So instead of Jarl, you say it like Yarl. It's very fun. So there's your lovely lesson for today!**

 **ANYway.**

 **Disclaimer: Not mine.**

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Lydia, after weeks of assimilating to the changes around the house, has finally conceded. She's used to the kids. She tolerates the elf. She likes the fox (though she will never tell Aranel that). She even likes the dog! The. Dog. That is incredibly hard to do. But then. Of course, Aranel has to go and get herself the one thing that she doesn't have already.

A wife.

So, naturally, rather than living single, Aranel decides to get married. Lydia doesn't even know what to say to that. Except… It seems to be in Aranel's nature to defy all expectations, and she's doing a remarkably good job of that. Lydia had pinned her as someone who would stay free, and not become tied down by the bonds of matrimony. Honestly, though, Lydia thinks she should have seen it coming when she got the kids.

In fact, Lydia really shouldn't be surprised. She knows that Aranel likes to flirt with people. Lydia has even been on the receiving end of it once or twice, though Aranel has never tried that again. She's watched Aranel flirt with the Battle-Borns, Aranel has flirted with the Companions, and she's even flirted with the Court Wizard of Whiterun. However, Lydia always saw it as that, and never anything more. Maybe that's why she never expected Aranel to up and marry.

The girl isn't even someone that Lydia has ever met before, though she did know that Aranel was visiting someone more often than normal. They've been on a break of sorts, and Aranel had been staying around the house. Lydia eventually kicked her out to go drink or something when she had been moping around for too long. After that, however, she only saw Aranel a couple times that week. She was always flushed and smiling, and Lydia distinctly remembers wondering if she had found gotten paid for clearing out another Forsworn camp or something. (Lydia wasn't entirely wrong there, when Aranel wasn't visiting that girl it turns out that she actually doing all sorts of errands for the Jarl of Markarth).

She can't really disapprove though, because if the girl brings Aranel that much happiness, then by all means, make her stay. It's only one more set of footprints to clean, after all.

As it turns out, Aranel's fiance is a lovely lass from a mining camp. She has a very Nordic name, Sylgja, and no kids. She's sweet and young, and walks with a limp from a mining accident. Lydia can see exactly why Aranel is so in love with her. A couple weeks before the ceremony, Aranel decides to drop by Breezehome with her fiance so that Lydia and the kids can meet her. Of course, everyone in the house is immediately taken in by the young woman's good looks and pleasant manner. She isn't tough like Aranel, but Lydia gets the distinct impression that she can give anyone a good tongue-thrashing if she has the mind.

Their ceremony is short, but sweet, and more people than Lydia expected show up. In fact, there are so many people, that some of them are forced to stand. Both women are incredibly happy to receive their vows, and afterwards they head to Honeyside afterwards for some much needed rest. Lydia finds herself chatting it up with the Housecarl, Iona, and in all, it's a pleasant trip. Lydia is surprised that she actually likes Riften (aside from the Thieves Guild, they can all rot), and even more so to discover that she actually like the Housecarl there. She leaves with a good feeling about the young couple, and is secure in the fact that Aranel will finally settle down, relax, and maybe go visit The Greybeards so she can end the war and get some peace.

So, of course, Aranel does the exact opposite of every one of those things.  
Naturally.


	7. Chapter 7: First Blood (Part 1)

**Author's note: Thank you, mike166 for reviewing! It's good to know that you like my style. Now it's time to completely _wreck_ that nice frame of mind by... switching tenses and not doing it very well!  
I don't think I will ever be completely satisfied with this chapter, but I just wanted to get it up so I could start the writing flow again. There will be revisions later (probably), but for now, it is what it is.**

 **Due to recent technical difficulties, I haven't made any headway in _anything_ (usually I try to write at least once a day). But my computer is back and working now, and I am going to continue to try for once a week updates, or more.**

 **I'm always open to receiving feedback! It's good to know what works and what doesn't, so if you have the time, please drop a review!**

 **Disclaimer: Not mine**

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Káno carries the weight of the world on his shoulders, and Faendal didn't even realize it until recently. After all, what with all the wandering, adventuring, and flat out drinking they do, it's no wonder that he even sees it at all. But now, little things are noticable. Most recently, Káno proposed a trip to Markarth. Faendal agreed, since he had never been to the city before, and they took a wagon. Markarth is, without a doubt, the most beautiful city that he's ever been to, and the towering stone fortress almost made him forget that they were in the middle of a civil war. So far, Markarth is mainly untouched by war. Being on the other side of the continent from pretty much everything, and shrouded in the impenetrable mountains that surround the city has its advantages.

However, as their luck would have it, everything went horribly wrong the minute they set foot inside the city. They had both gaped once inside the walls, marveling at the architecture from up close, but as they had done so, there had been a scream. Káno had immediately drawn his sword, and Faendal himself his bow, and they had turned to find the source of the noise. Right in front of them, a woman stood, silhouetted in the early evening light. Her back was to them, face turned towards the setting sun, (night always comes early for Markarth), and she had fallen backwards, a reddish stain spreading on her torso. And almost out of nowhere, there had been a man. Faendal remembers that. He had appeared, right after the woman had fallen, and had begun to scurry away, knife in hand. As he did so, the two guards usually on post at the door had materialized as well, nobody having noticed them come closer in all the commotion. The man had been felled, the area quarantined, and all the questions that they had asked were deflected with practiced ease. However, Faendal had also noticed something that no one else had. In the moments following the murder of the woman and subsequent death of the man, Káno had stopped and searched both bodies.

That had come to a head later, when a strange man had stopped Káno just outside the tavern, asking to meet them later through a note he claimed to have dropped. Káno, the self-sacrificing idiot, had not seen pending disaster and had gone. So now they are working on finding out the conspiracy behind the Forsworn. No big deal, they get jobs like this all the time. They might not pay very well, and might get them both killed in the process, but neither Káno nor Faendal mind that. There's something else, though. Back in Markarth, Káno went to go check something out down at the "Haunted House", while he stayed in the bar. Káno, an overly prompt person (except for when it comes to the millions of jobs that he has piled up), didn't come back for nearly a week.

An entire week.

And when he did, he was sweaty, covered in grime, wounded, and toting an eerily glowing mace. Faendal didn't ask where it came from, but he regrets it now. Because Káno's face grows pained when he looks at the axe. And shadows have lurked under his eyes for weeks now, despite the fact that they are resting. Clearing out as many Forsworn camps as possible doesn't seem to help either, which is odd. Neither does clearing Read Eagle's tomb, which he would've thought that Káno would perk up at.

Then they start moving up through the country. Clearing out Forsworn camps on the way, and killing a LOT of dragons seems to help a bit, and for a while the shadows go away.

Then they make a mistake.

Káno knows that he attracts dragons like Khajiit attract skooma dealers, and he knows that it's not safe to go to town. But they're running dangerously low on food, as well has space to store the accumulated treasures that they've picked up along the way. So they make the decision to stop by a small town in order to pick up some goods and get rid of others. And the moment they enter the town, two dragons swoop down out of the sky and begin raining hellfire on the town. Faendal isn't too worried about their chances of survival. After all, they have all the town guards on their side, the dog, himself, and of course, Káno. However, the dragons don't make it easy on them. One spits ice, immediately sapping one's strength. The other, flames.

The combination of the two attacks is enough to almost kill him, and enough to force Káno off a steep embankment and into the river. Káno's head disappears under the river's current, and all Faendal has time to do is cry his name before the dragons attack again. Finally, after several minutes of hiding and shooting, he manages to get it on the ground. By now all the guards are gone. He doesn't want to know where. Káno, too, is missing. Faendal and the dog keep attacking, the dog running straight up and biting at the dragons, and himself shooting from the shadows. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he sees a movement. Káno crests the hilltop and surveys the scene, taking in the state of the village, the dragons, the dog, and Faendal. The elf sighs in relief as he appears, and continues to fire arrows. Káno, he sees, has pulled out his bow and begun to attack as well, the force of his shots visibly rocking the dragon that he chooses to shoot at. Soon, the ice-breathing dragon follows to the ground, swiftly followed by the other. Faendal almost laughs in relief, then stops. Káno, rather than coming up to Faendal with a healing spell, as usual, has instead stopped on the path leading into the village and is staring at something only he can see. As Faendal gets closer and begins to turn the bend, he starts to see what Káno is looking at. First a foot, then a leg, then…

He stops in his tracks, staring. Two people are lying on the ground, in a crumpled heap. He watches in shock as Káno drops next to them, and begins to frantically check for heartbeats. After several minutes of this frantic scrambling, he stops dead. Then leans back on his heels. Faendal watches nervously as his face drains of any color, and all of a sudden, the shadows are there again.

The next few days are trying. Káno doesn't speak unless it's to tell Faendal something about whatever they're fighting. They seem to be on a path up the coast, though he can only tell by the stars and other such natural signs. After all, Káno is the one with the map. Their fights seem shorter now, and more gory, fleeting almost, as if . Káno still fights like a demon, but Faendal notices something slightly different about it. He's not sure what. There's just some difference, other than the lack of speech. It's as if someone moved everything in the house a couple inches to the right or left. There's something off, but he can't pinpoint what. Then there's the mace, still glowing as ever, the shadows, the pallid color of his skin. None of that is what's wrong, though. Káno seems to be getting over it, though, and a few weeks pass without any incidents. Whatever is off about him seems to be fading, and soon the feeling of "wrongness" is almost gone.

When Káno up and leaves, however, he realizes that his assumption was **very** wrong.

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 **Afternote: This shall be continued.**


	8. Chapter 8: MAMMOTHS

**Author's note: Four more chapters in, and it's time for a... DRABBLE.** **Actually, it's because I'm incredibly lazy and don't want to have to write anything... BUT STILL.  
First time I wrote this, it came out to exactly 100 words, which is nice I guess? So yeah. This was fun to write, since I absolutely love the mammoths in game. Of course, it's not that fun to run into a camp of them, but watching them from afar is pretty cool. I'll probably make a longer version of this sometime in the future because MAMMOTHS.**

 **On a related note, I have part two of the previous chapter drafted out, and I'm revising it today, so it should be published sometime today or tomorrow!**

 **Random fact time. Did you know that the next season of the Castlevania anime should be out in summer? I did not, and I'm very glad that somebody called it to my attention.**

 **I'm fairly tired, so this author's note is a complete trainwreck. Whoops. I'm just going to stop myself here, before I end up ranting on and on and on and...**

 **Yeah.**

 **Disclaimer: Not mine!**

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They're passing by a large mountain range (though there are so many that she can barely keep track of them on her map, let alone in her head), when she sees woolly mammoths for the first time. Huge and towering, they pass almost directly next to her, shaking the earth as they go. Aranel can barely contain her excitement. They are like nothing she's ever seen before! Looming over her, with long trunks like a snake, they're almost a match for their Giant companions. However, when she accidentally runs into one a couple weeks later, she isn't _that_ excited anymore.


	9. Chapter 9: First Blood (Part 2)

**Author's Note: I did say there was going to be another update. Not a lot happens in this chapter. I just really wanted to focus on the tranquility of the nature in Skyrim, and especially how calming it can be to get away from society. This particular story-arc is based directly off of the culmination of several stressful fights/quests in my personal save file. I finally just took off and did exactly what Káno does here; ditched my followers and travel. I went entirely on foot, almost the exact route that he does. I ended up meeting a lot of NPC's, finding millions of ore veins, killing dragons, and in general, enjoying myself! It was incredibly fun, and took stress off, both in game and in real life. The scenery in Skyrim is incredible, and I had so much fun just noodling around on my own (WITHOUT THAT STUPID DOG). I swear, I will finally wrap this particular mini story up and get back to the oneshots soon, but I wanted to focus on that theme of peace in this particular chapter.**

 **To anyone currently following my Diablo story... I swear, I am working on the next chapter! I have not forgotten you. But I did forget most of the details up to a certain extent, and may or may not be waiting to go back and replay that part of the game? Maybe? Hehehe...**

 **Anyway.**

 **Disclaimer: Not mine.**

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Káno can't help leaving. It's not anything that Faendal said or did. It's not even that blasted dog. He just can't handle interactions at the minute, and it's not their fault. It's not their fault.

He keeps saying that to himself, as if he's trying to convince somebody. The only person he can't seem to convince, however, is himself. Seeing those people, in town… He can't help but imagine Faendal there, or Lydia, or anybody else he loves. Or even the dog, no matter how much he professes to hate the animal. Those people who were dead, he knew them. He helped them the last time he came by their village, and instead of helping them once more, he brought ruin down upon their village. And besides them, there were others as well. People whom he had helped, once upon a time. People he had saved. And then, even before that. With the Daedra Lord in Markarth. It had started out as one of those simple quests; "Come investigate this house with me!". But the house wasn't haunted. It was cursed. And the Daedra inside had deemed him "worthy" of carrying out his word. So in the end, he had been forced to kill not only an innocent man, but a priest as well. And all in secrecy.

The worst part was, Faendal kept looking at him sideways, and the dog would occasionally sniff at him and turn away, like they knew he had done something wrong. At night, he felt like he had been wasting time. Like the longer that he sat, the more likely they were to be found by _something_. So he had to leave. If he isn't with them, at least for a bit, they can settle down at an inn or something. They can relax without his curse looming over their heads. Everyone he comes into contact with seems to end up dead or worse, so perhaps if he leaves them alone then they'll be fine.

So he takes the problem away.

And so, instead of taking a trip up the coast with them, he instead examines his long list of jobs for something in the area, and does that. And then another one. And another one. And more and more and more. He steers clear of major settlements along the way, keeping away from people and towns. Instead, he skips up North, and travels along the glaciers and ice floes. By night, he wanders by the light from the sky-lights, or what they like to call "the aurora". By day, the light of the sun. He knows perfectly well that continuing at the pace he's going at will eventually hurt him, but he can't help it. Every time he stops to camp, that _feeling_ comes creeping up on him again. So he keeps on. It's when he finally hits the easternmost edge of Skyrim that he truly realizes just how far he's come.

All the way from Markarth upwards, then around, taking a northern route, then heading directly eastward.

All the way across the continent.

From there, he does what he sees as the only option. Heads South, again skirting major settlements. The one place he does stop at is Riften, when he gets there, and it's only to sell items and get a decent sleep in a real bed, as well as a good shave and a fresh meal. The poor residents think that he's some kind of apparition. They aren't totally wrong. From there, he heads east once more. He meets up with the Dawnguard, a serious group of Vampire hunters and joins. The man in charge is taken aback by his appearance, and demeanor, but seeing that he truly means business, they let him in.

It's when he starts heading for Ivarstead that he truly hits a roadblock. The enemies west of Riften are far too difficult for him to take on alone, and after escaping from an encounter with a troll severely wounded, he begins to fear that his impromptu road trip is at an end. However, being more stubborn than a Giant, he keeps on, sticking to the more frequently traveled roads, unlike the rest of his trip. His wounds from the troll encounter only slow him down a little, and in combat don't prove too debilitating. The only time they cause actual issues is when he is fighting with a dragon on the outskirts of a swamp. The wounds are fresh when that happens, and the dragon ends up almost torching him. He ends up wishing that he had Faendal and the dog, but has to banish the thought. After all, they might get hurt as well. And if that happens…

He progresses through the swamp fairly slowly, the marshy terrain slowing him down a little more than he would like. The fights also take quite a bit whenever he runs into an enemy, and his progress ends up being impeded a little more than he would like. Nevertheless, he slogs on. Sleep is something of the past at this point, as he always has to be on the lookout for some sort of enemy, and he's afraid that the circles under his eyes are dark enough to absorb ink. His self image is also something of the past. Ever since he entered the swamp he hasn't been able to catch a good night of sleep, eat a full meal, let alone bathe. He hopes that before reaching any major civilization, like Whiterun, his intended destination, he is able to get some sort of bath. It's worrying to think that he would have to walk into some sort of town looking like he does at the minute. Rather than think about that, he devotes his attention to fighting and walking, conserving energy rather than wasting it on useless worries.

After about a week of more of the same, he finally reaches an area where the climate has begun to change from swampy, to cold. It's actually fairly nice, and he welcomes the change of atmosphere. The change, however, probably means that he's coming up on mountains, since he knows that there's no way that it's nearing winter. The mountains mean more difficult enemies, like frostbite spiders, ice wolves, and frost trolls, but after a week or so of traveling through the swamp, it doesn't make much of a difference to him. The difference is even welcome to him. Clearing caves, killing slaughterfish, slaying dragons and in general having to deal with fairly dangerous nuisances gets monotonous after a bit. A change of climate is highly welcome, but unfortunately it doesn't come until about three days later. The swamp, finally, evens out into dry terrain, and the dry terrain turns into high, sloping mountains. He heads towards them, hoping for some streams and forest. Anything that isn't swamp is okay at this point.

He isn't disappointed, and actually ends up finding a couple places to rest along the way, for which he is eternally grateful. One day, he actually goes to sleep with the sun, and ends up waking around noon, which never happens. The weariness that had settled into his bones while slogging through the swamp is gone as he travels through the mountains. He suddenly finds himself with plenty of time to explore, see the sights, and just take it easy. The mountains are cool and beautiful in the spring, and all the wildlife is coming out around him. Everywhere he turns there is wildlife. Butterflies here, a fox there, a rabbit warren there. He wanders all throughout the mountains, marking off caves on his map, and painting in sections that he hadn't had previously filled out. Some of the supplies he carries on him are rolls of parchment, as well as bottles of ink and quills. He tries his hand at some leisurely sketching, which, to be honest, is absolutely dreadful in the beginning. He realizes that he is absolutely dreadful at drawing live animals, but after some practice gets decent at landscapes. After all, he's always drawing on his map. Landscapes aren't that different from cartography, and when he's feeling particularly artistic, he comes up with some fairly realistic looking pictures. A couple weeks pass in this fashion, with the pleasant interlude only interrupted by a few chance encounters with bears or wolves. These fights are overshadowed by the overall pleasantness of the peace around him. Finally, after what seems to be weeks of fighting, he can finally rest. However, there's only so long he can stay in the mountains, and he eventually decides that returning to civilization and the task at hand would be a good idea. With a final, brief trek around the mountains, he says goodbye to the beautiful scenery, taking in the scents and sounds in peace, for what will most likely be the last time in decades.

And so he leaves the mountains, heading for Whiterun, and then back off to fight once again.


	10. Chapter 10: First Blood (Part 3)

**Author's note: Sorry for the (lack of) updates! I've been incredibly busy as of late, (see moving), and I haven't had much time to write. Hopefully once I manage to wrangle my schedule back into submission, there will be more updates. For now, however, you're stuck with this nasty angsty little story arc. You're welcome.**

 **I'm a beta reader now, so if you need someone to proof read, contact me, or check in my beta profile/preferences to see if I'd suit you! Also, tips on how to work out beta reading are much appreciated, since I have no idea how you're supposed to share documents.**

 **More updates will come soon!**

 **Disclaimer: Not mine**

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Going home is the hardest thing that Káno's ever done. It's been weeks, maybe months since he's bothered to alert anybody that he's even alive. In that time, he's somehow managed to traverse the entire continent.

All he had wanted at the time was solace from the ever present conflict. Now he realizes that it may be time to go home.

Heading back to Whiterun doesn't take as long as it should, so he stops at a farmhouse to get a real shave and bath before entering the city. The poor people at the farm are quite surprised by his appearance once he cleans up, though he supposes anything would be a shock compared to the scruffy mess he's been for who knows how long.

Whiterun looms into view as soon as he's a little further down the road, and before he knows it, he's almost at the gates. The guards recognize him, so he can't look that different, and they open the gates, letting him into the city. And all of a sudden, everything he sees is bright. Whiterun is full of color, and sun, and people. Someone pats his back. A friendly conversation is being held to his right. There's someone getting kicked out of the inn just ahead. People are smiling , laughing, shouting. And he realizes something. Sound is beautiful. And interaction with people, real people, is beautiful as well.

And out of the corner of his eye, he spots a familiar face. Faendal is leaning against a wall, with the dog, looking none the worse for wear. So he smiles, and laughs, and shouts, and when Faendal turns, the look on his face is worth every one of those weeks he's spent away.

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Hours later, he sits at the table, home at last. Lydia had scolded him thoroughly when he showed up, and then shocked him by giving him a hug. Faendal had laughed, the dog had… grinned. Sort of. And they had made dinner. Now eating, the conversation ranges from the most recent dragon attacks, to the dog pushing Faendal off a cliff. It never once, however, strays to the topic of his absence, only broaching it occasionally when necessary. He doesn't mind, though he hopes that they'll be able to discuss what happened.

Finally, late that night, Faendal knocks on his door. Káno lets him in, knowing exactly what he's here for, and they both sit down at his small table.

Faendal starts. "Why did you leave?" There's so much worry in his voice that it almost makes Káno anxious. "We looked for you. You were too fast. There were almost no tracks. And everything is snow, so the dog was no help when it came to tracking. We had to come back here after a month, and you still didn't show up. Why now? Why did you leave in the first place?! Just… if not for me, then for that little orphan girl. Lucia. You give her a coin everyday, right? Well, that's how she gets food. If Lydia or I hadn't been here, she could have starved. And you know what? She missed you, Káno. We all missed you. And now you just show up out of the blue, acting like nothing happened-"

"Faendal." The elf pauses in his rant, and looks back at Káno. "I'm sorry."

And that's all he needs to say. They're up until all hours of the night discussing the forsworn, and the coastline, and the bandit camps, but after that simple phrase, everything becomes much better. Somehow.

And though the discussion about the mace helps, and talking it out is something that relieves emotional stress tenfold, those two words are finally what makes everything all right.

And that's all there is to it.


	11. Chapter 11: Slaughterfish

**Author's note: Just having fun with Káno and co. I feel like he's over here with Faendal, thinking "I have problems", and then there's Aranel who's just like "Look at my wife, kids, and perfectly stable social relationships!" Káno isn't totally dead inside. He's just mirroring me on some days, and Aranel mirrors me on others. Unfortunately, I seem to write him when I'm feeling moody. So have this little short on my thinly veiled contempt for slaughterfish.**

 **Disclaimer: Not mine**

 **Also, reviews are nice. You don't even need to have a profile, or enter your email to write one.**

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Káno dips his rod in the water, grinning. Lakeview manor was a good purchase. He's been slowly but steadily building up the house, and now, after several days of blowing his money on stone and lumber, it has finally paid off. The entire main hall, small house, and basement are complete. Except for one thing. Slaughterfish. The floor plan has at least three spaces for wall mounted slaughterfish. Normally, this wouldn't be a problem, but he's sold all the slaughterfish scales that he has. So rather than buy them, they're going fishing.

There's a lake that's not too far away from the manor that they've decided on. After a leisurely afternoon of clearing out bandit caves, and messing around with the standing stones, they've gotten down to business and are fishing for slaughterfish. The first time they tried for some was using worms as bait. After all, what type of fish doesn't like worms? Most of them, apparently. Not only did they not get the slaughterfish, they also didn't manage to catch any other fish.

Since that plan failed miserably, they then proceeded to tie the dog to a string, and let him out in the water. Oddly enough, none of the slaughterfish would even come near the dog. Káno likes to think it has something to do with how fierce the dog is. Faendal is more inclined to believe that it has something to do with how the dog smells.

At the minute, they're just using a myriad of different ingredients to try and catch the fish. However, he's not so sure that those fish will come for anything short of a human. It's too bad, he doesn't want to have to sacrifice a nearby villager just for a fish.

After several hours of pointless fishing, Faendal jokingly hangs a human heart on the fishing rod. Káno merely smiles, and goes back to fishing. The human heart will never work, though he can't fault the elf for trying.

Two seconds later, he's staring in amazement as Faendal hauls a fully grown slaughterfish out of the water.


	12. Chapter 12: Hoarding issues the second

**Author's Note: Last update for tonight! Just another drabble poking fun at (my) clutter tendencies.**

 **Disclaimer: Not mine**

 **Reviews are nice!**

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Both Honeyside and Lakeview Manor are newly acquired purchases. So Aranel, of course, refuses to let anyone else live there. It's the topic of much debate among the house, although Aranel does have a point in saying that both locations are dangerous. As a result, both Honeyside and Lakeview Manor begin collecting unwanted piles of stuff. Books, food, weapons… All the housecarls can do, however, is politely remind (Read: Shout at) Aranel to consolidate and sell her stuff. Unsurprisingly, she refuses. That is, until she has to travel to three different homes just to find a pickaxe. Then she reconsiders.


	13. Chapter 13: Ghosts

**Author's note: Hello what a fine day it is to be alive. We're just going to pretend that I've been keeping to a regular publishing routine, and that my work hasn't been dropping in quality...  
So I've finally settled in, and the craziness of moving has stopped! And that means I'll be able to get back to my regular schedule soon. In the meantime, I'm going to upload as often as possible, since I have a bunch of ideas stored up. Once again, I'm so sorry for the delay.**

 **Reviews are much appreciated! I know people are seeing this so please, stop for a moment and give me some feedback. I'd like to improve as an author, and I don't have a beta, so compliments and criticism are always nice...**

 **Disclaimer: Not mine**

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Káno is starting to believe that his favorite places to explore are Dwemer ruins. While the rest of Skyrim is lovely, he's been all over almost every inch of it, and can indeed confirm that more than half the land is snow, marsh, and impassable mountains. That's not a bad thing, not by any means, but a change of pace is nice every once in a while, and the Dwemer ruins are perfect for that. The echoing halls, the ruins of a long dead civilisation, and the architecture are enough to draw him in. The presence of the Falmer, and the need to restore the beautiful ruins to their former splendour are enough to keep him there.

The first time he encounters such a place is while traveling. He happened across Reachwind Eyrie, a place high in the mountains, abandoned all but for Dwemer objects. He had climbed the narrow tower, wary of any enemies that might make themselves known, but there had been none. Only the beautiful, twisting structure, and abandoned pieces of metal lying around. It was at that moment that the beauty of the ruins became apparent to him. And then he went to Markarth.

Markarth, built on the foundations of a Dwemer city, and in fact unconsciously living directly above the true city, was the most beautiful place he had ever seen. The stone climbed high into the mountains, houses were built with Dwemer architecture, and in the centre of it all, the Dwemer city upon which they lived. It was love at first site. Now, weeks later, he's finally exploring the true nature of what lies beneath Markarth, and he finds himself happier than ever. The twisting tunnels, while home to Falmer, still echo with life beyond the horrible creatures that now inhabit the city. Káno is searching for what remains of an expedition lost to the tunnels, and the search led to the city. Apparently, the people of Markarth have finally discovered the truth about what their city is built on, and like any good people with a hunger to know, they have begun excavating. This particular job is born out of his curiosity to know what lies beneath Markarth. After obtaining the key to the ruins, and killing an overly large spider that had been lurking there, he had continued to explore the ruins, eventually stumbling across something that warranted exploring. As a result, he finds himself sucked into the deep, dimly lit halls. The place is beautiful, and mostly intact. Of course, Falmer prowl the halls, but they aren't much of a problem. Until he and Faendal step into a room, and are immediately ambushed. The Falmer spring from the walls, and the shadows, setting upon them at once. He is almost immediately separated from the elf, and can only hope that Faendal can fare for himself as he battles what seems to be the leader. The group is large and vicious, deadly attacks hitting what seems to be every part of his armor. The leader is no pushover as well, and he finds himself hard pressed to keep up with the speed and power of the attacks. He pushes back, matching, and eventually overpowering the leader, then dispatching the rest of the group. Finally, he spins around, wild-eyed, only to find that the last of the Falmer lie dead on the ground. Faendal, however, is nowhere to be seen.

He searches for the elf for hours, running back over the same sections of hall multiple times, and venturing deeper in case he might have left. However, Káno is unable to find his friend. The elf has gone completely missing, and it's all he can do to keep from panicking. He stops at the foot of a staircase, and leans against the wall, energy completely gone. The low thrum of machinery fills the air, though quietly, and he sighs. As the nature of the situation sets in, Káno finally begins to truly worry. Before, the rushing about kept him busy. Now, in one place at last, he realizes that he is completely freaking out, and has no idea what to do. Faendal is such a constant presence, that he has no idea what to do about the fact that he has gone missing. As the realization hits, several things happen at once. The vents behind him suddenly turn on, expelling steam into the frosty underground air. As they do so, the light above him goes out, turning the fascinating ruins into an ominous prison. And something metallic collides with the side of his head.

When he wakes, he is lying on the ground. The floor is cold, and slightly wet, probably with the water that inevitably seeps into the ruins. His hands aren't bound, so whatever attacked him must have given him up for dead. In that case, it was most likely one of the dwemer guardians rather than a Falmer or human. The machines, as he has found out through trial and error, attack and cripple. Their goal is to detain or eliminate intruders, however, they do not come back to make sure their work is done.

After listening to the sounds around him, and ascertaining that there isn't anything in the proximity that's moving, Káno finally deems it safe enough to cast candlelight. He finds himself in the same room he was before, albeit in a slightly different spot. Instead of at the foot of the staircase, he is now at the top, lying next to a group of bodies. Several Falmer, and one mage. He scrambles over, and checks the pulse on the human, but finds nothing. The skin is cold, and he has obviously been dead for a while. And as Káno looks up, he notices something else. Faendal is lying a few feet away, on the ground. He still has a pulse, though slightly weak, and does stir when Káno shakes him. Finally, the elf's eyes open, and he looks about blearily. Before the poor elf can do anything else, however, Káno has Faendal by the hand, and they are out the door. In almost no time at all, they are standing outside the ruins, panting. Káno's face is flushed, and he quietly sits on the ground to regain his breath. Faendal continues to stand, breathing heavily, and they both remain like that for several minutes. Finally, Káno stands once more, looking his companion in the eye.

"What happened back there?"

Faendal shakes his head, and looks at the ground.

" I have no logical explanation for it. One minute I was on the ground, about to be killed by the Falmer. The next, you were shaking me awake."

Káno pauses and considers his statement for a minute. If he himself had been having trouble with the Falmer, then it was obvious that his friend would have been overwhelmed. In that case, why weren't they both dead? He sighs, pushing back hair from his face as Faendal speaks.

"We… should probably come back another time."

With a hearty nod, Káno turns and leads the way out of the dig site, and back into the open air of Markarth.

And while neither of them particularly care to look back, if they had, they would have seen the ghost of a long-dead adventurer turning back to the ruins from which he came.


	14. Chapter 14: Murdering Thalmor

**Author's note: I've resolved to update this every Monday and Friday. SO that means more updates.  
This was based off that Grey-Mane side quest. I'm not sure if there was a way to get around murdering all the Thalmor, but honestly? I don't care. It was fun, and I'm proud to say that the entire thing took less than 5 minutes.  
I also changed followers somewhere around here, for fun, so now introducing... Marcurio! The sassy as heck mage. I don't know how many people actually listen to stuff their followers say, but WOW does Marcurio say some weird stuff.**

 **Casual daily reminder that I'm a beta reader now (and looking to create more work for myself), so yeah.**

 **Reviews are much appreciated! Speaking of which...  
Many thanks to reviewer NJT! I'm so glad you enjoy my writing. I loved hearing from you :)**

 **Y'know, if only half of you people who had seen this story would review, I'd be a VERY happy person. *Please review* *It's nice* *Thanks***

 **Disclaimer: Not mine**

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Marcurio likes to think that good and evil are black and white. Killing someone is bad, helping them is good. Stealing is bad, giving to charity is good. But in the short time he's been with Aranel, he has started questioning that view of the world more and more. She steals, yes, and in the beginning he was going to report her. But after seeing what she does with the stolen goods, he isn't so sure anymore. The food goes to farmworkers, and struggling families, while other items go to merchants in order to boost their trade. And some of it goes to her children. He isn't so sure what he thinks of the "stealing but giving to a good cause" thing, but it isn't evil, he at least knows that. So what is it? He isn't sure.

Then there's the killing bit. When he signed on with her, he wasn't certain where she was going or what they were doing. After all, she had looked like an amateur adventurer in need of assistance, and he had figured that they couldn't be going anywhere dangerous. Now, less than two weeks later, he realizes that he was terribly wrong about that. They have (so far), plunged into more Dwemer ruins than he can count, sacked close to a hundred Forsworn camps, killed a few Thalmor, and run into dozens of vampire nests. The Thalmor are the ones that really bother him. After all, they're some of the most powerful beings currently in Skyrim, and who does she think she is to challenge such authority? But she does, and they do, and he finds himself participating in the fights. Trolls and Giants become everyday occurrences, while actual living people become something of a rarity.

Today seems no different. So far, they've cleared a few Forsworn camps, and she has murdered a bunch of Thalmor (again) on their way up the coast. A woman in Whiterun last her son, and she wants Aranel to find him. Personally, Marcurio thinks the man was killed while in prison, but Aranel refuses to believe that. Of course. So they've headed up the coast once more, and are now venturing into the more mountainous regions of Skyrim. Although, it's safe to say that all of Skyrim is a mountainous region. The slog through the dangerous territory is exhausting, though rewarding. He gets an entirely new set of armour, and Aranel finally finds an ebony sword on one of the draugr they kill. Despite the amount of money and armour they collect, however, they still haven't reached their end goal. It's only been around three days, but minimal sleep has drained the energy from both of them, though Aranel appears to be holding up slightly better than himself. She's probably had to do this before, he reflects. Thankfully, they have time on some nights to get a few hours of rest, and Aranel always carries food with her, so they remain in much better shape than they could have been.

On the fifth day out, she spots the Thalmor fortress. While, Marcurio knows, she would rather initiate combat first, instead Aranel walks straight up to the fortress.

"What are you _doing_?" he hisses, "You could get killed!"

She doesn't listen to him, and instead walks straight up to the front.

"Excuse me."

The Thalmor on guard eyes her suspiciously, and quickly tells her to scram, sensing a threat. She tries to reason with him a few more times, but it never works. Finally, she turns around and looks at Marcurio. He swallows, nervously, as she starts smiling. And then she walks straight past the guard. At that moment, all of the Thalmor spring to attention, and begin shooting lighting bolts, arrows, and charging straight at Aranel. She merely continues to smile, and launches herself into the fight. He sighs, and starts gathering a lighting spell in the palm of his hand. However, by the time the spell is charged and ready to go, over half the Thalmor are dead, and the others are fleeing. He looses the bolt at a nearby one, and is gratified with a hit. Turning back, he spots Aranel, casually picking off the last of their fleeing enemies.

She casually saunters back to where he's standing, stopping along the way for a coin purse or arrows. Finally, she reaches him. He begins pacing in a circle, and finally speaks.

"You are officially horrible."

She grins, and nods, storing the arrows in her quiver. There's a weird mix in there, Orcish, Dwemer, and Elvish arrows all in one. He's not sure how she stands the disorder, but then again, she _is_ Aranel.

"You really wanted a fight, didn't you? And so instead of trying to find a way around… you killed them all."

Aranel pauses in cleaning her blade, and looks up.

"Damn right."

He stops dead in his tracks, the snow crunching.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I said," she states once more, "Damn right."

And they look at each other for a minute, before heading inside the fortress. Because although she's not going to change, he's willing to, if it means fighting for the people of Skyrim.


	15. Chapter 15: Khilheru (Part 1)

**Author's note: I SAID I WAS GOING TO UPDATE TODAY, and I actually stuck to schedule. HA. So yeah. This is going to have to be two (or more) parts, since I didn't get half of the stuff I wanted to in this update. But that shall come on Monday. Trying out a different style here, so that's fun.**

 **Thank you to everyone who has been reading and... reading!  
*Please review***

 **Anyone else listen to The Adventure Zone? I'm mildly obsessed with it, and I just started listening to it. Whoops.**

 **Disclaimer: Not mine**

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 **The following inclusions were found on journal entries from various sources. While only the Dragonborn's is needed for the investigation, the other entries have been included due to their connection with the Dragonborn, and possible clues to the village ruins found near the Aetherium shard location.**

 ** _Found in a charred journal, buried deep beneath the earth. Only a few pages remain, this being one of the few legible bits._**

 _Today I was approached by the most odd of people. He came from the main road that leads into town, with one other person. They were on foot, and the other man seemed exhausted. He was obviously a mage, what with the staff and shimmering robes. However, he still had a sword attached to his belt, and obviously knew how to wield it. The other one was dressed in armour, not an uncommon thing in these times, but a type I had never seen before. It was made of some sort of carved stone, and looked like it must have weighed a hundred pounds. However, he wore it like cloth, and moved incredibly quickly despite the stuff. At his side were two blades, one made of another material that I had never seen before, the other a shining dagger. Because of his battle-worn appearance, I was rather surprised when he made his way up to where I was working. And I most certainly did not expect him to begin talking to me. He asked me about the town, and the fields, and if we've had any dragon problems recently. I found myself rather embarrassed in the presence of a warrior, and ended up tripping over all my words. It was rather plain that he didn't mind, though, and he let me speak at my own pace. I talked a bit about our inn, and mentioned that we had no blacksmith, since he seemed like he might be looking for armour. I didn't ask very many questions since I was so nervous, but I did manage to work up enough courage to ask him why he was in town. He didn't really respond… Maybe he's a drifter? Or perhaps he's on the run from the law, and our town is so secluded that he decided to come here? Or maybe he is a great warrior, and is on a quest to save the world. Either way, he excused himself from the conversation directly afterward, and I think I might have scared him off. Nice going._

 _He headed straight out of town after speaking to my father, and then turned left on the road and vanished out of site. I thought he was gone for good, and resigned myself to continuing to work without any other distractions. But then, later, I saw him come back into town. When the sun began to set, he strode in once more, this time with his partner, and they went into the inn. He waved at me, so he must have remembered who I was, thankfully! He didn't look too freaked out, and he hadn't completely left yet, so I must not have said anything too horrible. I retired from the fields shortly after, and stopped by the inn as well for some needed ale. The man and his companion were talking in a corner, and while they mostly ignored me, the one in armour smiled as I walked by. They both looked fairly serious, and I noticed that there were healing supplies spread out on the table in front of them. I sat down for my drink, and meal, but when I looked up they were gone. Lilah informed me that they had left the inn, and shortly afterwards, left the town. They seem to be gone for good now. I'll probably never see such a warrior again. And to think, I even forgot to ask his name. Of course I would._

 _-Khilheru_

 ** _Page taken from the journal of the Dragonborn, also found buried deep beneath the earth._**

 _I entered a new village today. The villagers seemed fairly friendly, and I made a new acquaintance. He was the only one in the village who took more than a passing glance at myself, so taking that as a good sign, I went up to him. The curious ones usually know more about what's going on in their town. However, he got flustered as I came up to him, and only gave brief responses to my questions. I was about to excuse myself when he asked me why I was passing through. I wasn't sure what to tell him, though. It's not like I can simply say, "Oh yes, I was searching for Aetherium shards in Dwemer ruins that may or may not exist, with the help of a ghost who wa searching for them as well until she fell to her death." That would sound completely crazy, and while I may have that reputation in other areas, I didn't want to scare away a possible friend. I tried to avoid his question, but may have ended up completely failing. I had to excuse myself shortly after that, though, as I needed to rendezvous with Marcurio. He looked disappointed to see me off, and I hope I didn't scare him off._

 _After meeting with Marcurio, we discussed the possible regions for the Dwemer ruins to be. Thankfully, they have to be somewhere in the area, as Katria's notes point to the ruins that dot this section of the landscape. I suppose we'll have a look in the morning. He and I decided to head to the inn to discuss more of the details, and hopefully stock up on a few supplies before leaving. As we were walking in, I saw my acquaintance once more. I waved at him, wishing to show that I wasn't avoiding him, and to my surprise, he grinned and waved back. We headed into the inn, and purchased some food, and a few herbs. I'll make a list below. My new acquaintance walked in, and I smiled at him, though I couldn't stop to talk. After some short discussion, Marcurio and I left town, choosing instead to continue our march. We are currently stopped in a small forest, near the bottom of the mountains. We've so far managed to avoid any large confrontations, and I plan to keep it that way. Picked up a few more bear pelts, and a nirnroot. I'll add those to my list below. The man I talked to back in town mentioned something about getting a good price for bear pelts, and I don't want to have to lug them around for our entire journey. I must remember to ask for his name the next time we meet. I can't keep calling him "my acquaintance," after all. Marcurio and I finished our preparations to go, and rented a room for the night. I'm in good spirits, and I'm sure that we shall find the shards before long._

 _-Káno_

 ** _Found on a scrap of paper, acting as a bookmark for the previous journal entry._**

 _Damnit! We got too far into the ruins, and met with some Chaurus. They severely wounded Marcurio and myself before we managed to kill them. I've got to get us out of here, before we are killed entirely._

 _-Káno_

 ** _Found in a charred journal, the same as before. There is more to the entry, but it is illegible._**

 _My acquaintance from earlier appeared in town once more, this time badly hurt, and carrying his friend. They are both in horrible condition, and I've only been able to skitter down a few words between fetching herbs and water for our local healer. However, I did manage to get a word in with the man… his name is Káno and he is on a quest._

 _-Khilheru_

 ** _Excerpt from the same charred journal, most notably one of the final pages._**

 _I entered the sick room today, only to find that Káno was wide awake, and looking at me. I got nervous again, being in the presence of someone so battle-hardened, and almost walked away. However, he motioned for me to stay, and so I sat down in the chair between his and his friend's bed. He asked me if I had been helping to heal his friend, whose name is apparently Markuryo(?) I'll have to ask how it's spelled later. I responded with a nod, and a smile blossomed across his face. "I'd say you've done a good job," he said. "Thank you. It's much better than I could have done." I felt it necessary to explain that I hadn't done anything, and that it had mostly been the work of Carran, our healer. Either way, he offered me a fairly large sum of money for helping heal him and his friend, which I had to refuse. I can't just take money from an injured man, especially when I'm not the one who has healed him. Káno looked disappointed that I hadn't taken it, but put it away, probably saving the money for Carran, oblivious as he is to hospitality and kindness. We sat in silence for a few more minutes, before I finally decided on my course of action. "What… what quest are you on?" He sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. "One that you could not possibly begin to comprehend, my friend." Then a look of horror dawned on his face. "I never asked you your name!" I laughed, because he was right, and spoke. "Khilheru. My name is Khilheru."_

 _"Ah. A noble name." I flushed, but continued to press him for details concerning this "quest" of his. Finally, he gave in._

 _"You have seen the dragons, I am sure. But do you know of the Dragonborn?"_

 _I had, and responded as such._

 _"I am the Dragonborn, and I am on a quest to rid the world the world of the dragon scourge, so that people like you and your village may live in peace. At this moment in time, I am trying to recover fragments of an ancient artifact from Dwemer ruins, although I am not sure what purpose that will serve."_

 _I was incredulous. The man who was staying in our village, who had come back almost dead, and who had (according to Lilah) drunk even Martin under the bar before he left, was the Dragonborn of legend? However, as I began to mull it over a little more, I realized that he could have been telling the truth. It would explain his odd armour and weapons, as well as the ungodly amount of keys, and various supplies he was carrying. Finally, he saw my slightly confused stare. "Listen, is this proof enough?" With his uninjured hand, he pulled out a slightly bloodstained letter from his armour, and handed it to me. "What is this?"_

 _He gestured impatiently for me to open it. I unfolded the parchment, and found, in shaky handwriting, summons to the Greybeards. I had to set it down, and I looked at Káno_

 _"Oh."_

 _He gave a hearty laugh, and took it back, stowing it in his armour once more. We talked for a bit more, until Carran came back in and promptly kicked me out, with the excuse that I was "Cluttering up my sickbay and TIRING OUT MY PATIENT, KHILHERU YOU IDIOT." (His words, not mine). I suppose I'll talk to Káno tomorrow… I still can't believe he is the Dragonborn._

 _-Khilheru_

 ** _Found on a scrap of paper in a forest near to the burned village._**

 _Damn the man, he's tiring out my patient! There are only so many herbs that can help him heal, and Khilheru is not helping in the slightest. I'm heading out to the forest to gather-_

 _ **Here the line cuts off, due to water damage. There is no more legible print.**_


	16. Chapter 16: Missing weapon

**Author's note: I didn't realize that this chapter was going to be a drabble, so here. I'll publish the second half of the previous chapter (hopefully) earlier than Friday, though, so I can make up for the total lack of content. I'm just about done writing it out, and it should be finished and edited by Wednesday. *Finally***

 **On a not-so-related note, SOMEBODY REVIEWED. Thank you SO much, Burnt Sierra, for your kind words! I'm glad you like the switch up of styles, I wasn't sure how that was going to go over. I personally LOVE writing in a journal style, but only recently found the time to actually work out the kinks. Your review made my day, so thank you.**

 **Disclaimer: Not mine, etc, etc.**

* * *

Aranel isn't happy to find that one of her Ebony swords has gone missing. After all, they're her prized possessions at this moment in time, since she can't get her hands on anything more powerful (She doesn't know if there's anything more powerful out there, but if there IS, then she knows who's going to be the first to use it.) So naturally, when she goes to retrieve it and it isn't there, she freaks out. She even tears the house apart, but can't find it.

Marcurio isn't going to be the one to tell her about Lucia's new sword.


	17. Chapter 17: Khilheru (Part 2)

**_Author's note: I said it would be up around Wednesday, and here it is._**

 ** _This arc is complete, so next chapter will be up on Friday, and it will be an ordinary one-shot! Yay. That one is drafted as well, so no worries, it''ll be up on time._**

 ** _Still experimenting with the journal style, and I think I like it. I might be doing a few more mini stories (not story arcs, like this one) in the same style, though I'll probably keep with my other one._**

 ** _Does anyone ever look up *in real life* as a shadow passes over and go "Oh shoot, I have to equip my weapon now"?  
I do it all the time and... yeah. It's annoying. THEY'RE JUST BIRDS, YOU IDIOT._**

 ** _Reviews would especially be appreciated for this chapter. It's my first time trying something like this, and I'd also like to hear some character opinions. I quite like Khilheru, and would love to hear your thoughts on him._**

 ** _This chapter has been updated a little, in order to fix some confusion regarding the POV. Thank you, Burnt Sierra, for pointing that out!_**

 ** _Disclaimer: Not mine_**

* * *

 ** _Entry in the burned notebook._**

 _Káno and I have been talking quite a bit, since he's finally recovering. He's been to the most amazing of places, and has seen some absolutely terrifying apparitions. The Dwarven Centurions, according to him, are nearly the size of mammoths, and hit like a Giant's club. He's killed over six of them._

 _We've also been keeping close tabs on his friend, whose name is actually spelled as "Marcurio," according to Káno. Káno is very fond of him, and has been making sure that Carron is doing the best he can. Of course, this annoys Carron to no end, and he constantly snaps with Káno about doing his job. They kind of remind me of birds, when they only have one piece of food between them. But I can tell that Carron likes him. Carron finds it hard to genuinely dislike anything that he has tried to heal, especially somebody who pays him._

 _Nevertheless, I still have to work, so I don't get to talk to Káno as much as I'd like. It's finally spring, and we have more work than ever to do. Not much grows in these times, so when it does, we have to work as hard as possible to make sure it stays alive. Much like that, we also have to take care of our own, and the people in this town have been on the lookout for bandit attacks. They've been increasing in frequency over the past month or so, though since my friend came, there hasn't been a single one. I'm not sure whether it's because he's the Dragonborn, and they know he's here, or if it's just pure coincidence. I've been looking into some of the herbs he recommends for healing. Since he's a warrior, I was astonished to learn that he knows how to create potions, and especially efficient ones at that. (Of course, this gave Carron yet another excuse to gripe, but that's what he does, so I've been ignoring it.) My friend also, apparently, knows how to enchant. I've been learning several beneficial skills from him, and they've actually been helping with the farm. Enchantments for sharpening, for enhanced stamina, for heat resistance (that one helps more in the summer), and, well a LOT more. I hope Káno stays for a while. He has so many stories to tell._

 _-Khilheru_

 ** _Entry in the notebook of the Dragonborn._**

 _Marcurio still hasn't awoken. I'm slightly worried about his condition, but Khilheru assures me that Carron is doing his best. I can't write too much, as it still pains my arm to use it. When I heal, I'll recount the details of this past week, I suppose._

 _I need to remember to make plans on how to train for those damn ruins._

 _-Káno_

 _ **Found in the burned notebook. Entry occurs the same night (presumably) as the ones following.**_

 _Something happened to Carron, and though we aren't sure what, we can take a fair guess. Káno is sitting next to me, trying (and failing) to read over my shoulder. He's as worried as I am, though perhaps not as shocked._

 _Today, Carron went out to gather herbs for his patients. There were a couple of people who needed herbs for fever, as well as Marcurio, and some herbs needed for Káno's arm. I offered to go with him, but he declined, citing that I had work to do, and his patient to take care of. He left mid-morning, and told us that he would be back in the afternoon. We weren't too worried when he was gone for longer than expected, since he has a tendency to get distracted and wander, but when darkness fell and he still wasn't back, we began to worry. I wanted to go and look for him, but my father and the rest of the villagers refused. They said that there might be bandits in the woods, or perhaps Carron had fallen asleep or something. I didn't agree with anything they said, and so, being a complete idiot, I decided to go look for him. Since I had known that there were probably bandits, I decided to raid my stash of minor weaponry for something to defend myself with. Unfortunately, I had left my potion ingredients (since I was learning from Káno) in his room, so I had to stop by before I left. I dropped by, grabbed my stuff while he was asleep, and left. Of course, I didn't know that he was awake at the time._

 _I left town after grabbing anything I thought I would need, and I headed out towards the forest where Carron normally gathers his herbs. It was pretty dark outside, and only the stars lit my way. The forest outside of our town is fairly thicketed, and densely populated by shrubs, bushes, and other forestation. I'm not sure what type of animals live in the woods, but judging by the lack of attacks, there aren't many. My trek out of town was fairly short, and I reached the woods within about ten minutes. I wasn't sure what I was looking for, though, so before I entered I merely stood there, looking around. The woods were incredibly dark, especially when compared to the rest of the world. So naturally, I decided to enter them. I did have a light, but it didn't cast far enough for me to see very far in front of me._

 _I stumbled along for a bit, getting caught on every shrub imaginable, until I finally came to a clearing. There, the moon shone, and illuminated the small patch of… not grass. As I stepped closer, I recall a moment of complete horror. Large footprints decorated the ground, and the broken trees littered the forest surrounding the clearing. Stumps rose, jagged and dark in the light, although some seemed to have been reduced to splinters of wood. And among the wood, I could faintly make out wet splotches, as if something-or someone, had met with a grisly end. The next few minutes I cannot distinctly remember, except for a rush of sensations. The first was of disgust and terror, at the sight of what must have been blood. The second was absolute shock. As I stared at the clearing, a large shadow passed overhead. I must have frozen for a solid minute, until it came around again. Only then did I possess enough courage to look up. A large, winged shape, flying close to the ground was circling overhead. I might have screamed, if it hadn't been for the hand that clamped over my mouth. I'm fairly sure I shrieked, I can't remember, but a shadowy figure pulled me back into the underbrush. My attacker spun me around, and to my surprise, there was Káno. He shushed me, and led me back to the village._

 _And that's where we are now. I explained what I had seen to my father, and he has gathered most of the adults in the town to speak about it. Although I should be there, he sent me to look after Káno, who almost collapsed as soon as we reached town. I'm not sure what everyone plans to do. We'll have to evacuate if this really is a dragon- after all, nobody has survived one of their attacks._

 _(Káno claims that he has, but he's in no shape to fight. He still won't tell me what he was doing in the woods so late at night, though…)_

 _-Khilheru_

 ** _One of the Dragonborn's entries. Most notably, it is also one of the last._**

 _Stupid, idiotic people. Khilheru still hasn't figured out why I was in the woods. Damn fool can't recognise when a person is awake or not._

 _-Káno_

 ** _Scrawled inside the burned notebook. The handwriting is hurried and cramped. All are done on the same page, though there is no date._**

 _Made some food. Not very hungry, though. Káno ate and then retreated to his room. I'm not sure what he's doing. Probably checking in on Marcurio._

 _Nope nope nope, I was wrong. I walked in, and found him fitting on his helmet, and buckling on a sword. I cried something to the effect of "What do you think you're doing?!"_

 _He told me that he was going to fight the dragon. Lead it away from the village, so we don't have to leave. I asked about his friend, in a last ditch attempt to see if he would stay. He looked at me, then placed his hands on Marcurio, and after a few seconds, the man on the bed vanished._

 _He left directly afterwards._

 _I'm here alone now, and I don't know what to do… I can't help him. Maybe I can find shelter in the nearby mountains, in case there are more? I need to warn the rest of them first._

 _They won't listen to me. They think there isn't really a dragon, either. But I know there is. I trust Káno. And I saw the monster with my own eyes. I won't flee, though. Not if my father and the rest of them can come._

 _Instead, I shall arm myself, and wait._

 _I hope that Káno comes back safe._

 _Something is happening outside! I can hear crashes, and the ground rumbles. I need to get everyone to the mountains if it-_

 ** _Here the line cuts off, and the rest of the undamaged pages are blank, except for one note, in a different handwriting._**

 _So that's what happened. I didn't think I'd ever find that journal you were always scribbling in, amongst all the ashes. You fireproofed it, didn't you, you self-sacrificing, paranoid, oddly forward thinking idiot. I shouldn't have shown you those spells. How was I to know that you'd actually apply them?_

 _I read the entry before this. I'm so sorry. I only wished to bury this, but my eyes found my name, and I couldn't help it. Don't worry, though. I didn't read any entries before the one above._

 _After all, I know that they were never intended for me._

 _And I hope that wherever you are, the atrocity of this world will cease to haunt you. Dead or alive, may you find peace in the fact that_ _I am safe, in a sense._

 _This journal shall be buried as far beneath the Earth as I can find, and the same shall happen to my own, lest they fall into hands of those who would wish to harm me._

 _Best of luck, my friend._

 _-_ _Káno_


	18. Chapter 18: Lakeview Manor and chickens

**Author's note: So sorry for the delay in updates! I've been very sick recently, and haven't found the energy to write. But don't worry, there will still be an update on Monday. Probably a shorter one, since I haven't even started writing it yet, but an update nonetheless.**

 **Thank you once more, Burnt Sierra for reviewing! I realize that I probably need to clear up some things about the last chapter, so I guess I should do that now. It's amazing to hear back from someone, and you've helped me recognise a few mistakes that I made last chapter.  
This is actually only my second time writing in this style, and I was trying to shift the focus from action to a more ambiguous style. My previous writing bit was a horror story in journal form. That was... interesting 0_o  
But t** **hank you so much for reviewing!**

 **So last chapter. I realize that it was fairly confusing. I probably should've added a couple details to make it clearer.  
The final note is from ****Káno, writing in Khilheru's notebook. Sort of as a tribute to his friend, since he'll never see him again.  
It's implied that the village burns to the ground, and that the people are killed. Buuut you can interpret it however you want, since it's not explicitly stated.  
** **The fireproofing bit wasn't clear either, my apologies. That wasn't a neccessary** **detail** **, and made it more confusing. I'll be updating and replacing the chapter with the end bit fixed, so that it's easier to understand. I'll probably add an explanation there, so I'll let you guys know when I have all that fixed.**

 **Anyway. My apologies for the long note, please go ahead and read the story. I know that's what you're all here for anyway.**

 **Reviews are always appreciated! Love to anyone who has reviewed so far. You are all amazing!**

 **Disclaimer: Not mine, I'M NOT A GAMING STUDIO UNFORTUNATELY**

* * *

 _-Quicksilver_

 _-Steel_

 _-Bone powder_

 _-Troll fat_

 _-3 Ebony ingots_

 _-1 flawless sapphire (Check tombs?)_

 _-Bear pelts- need 10 for Tenga, buy at least 3_

 _-Nirnroot (Should be in ingredients chest in Honeyside. If not, check Breezehome, chest on left in entrance)_

 _-Do we need any healing supplies? Buy as many as necessary/can afford_

 _-As many health potions as possible, I'm almost out_

 _-Quick heal spellbook (Farengar should have one, if not then don't bother, I'll get it myself)_

Marcurio sighs, and stares at the list. "Aranel, what is this?" She grins, and pulls out her ingredients pouch. He notices that it's almost empty, and she emphasizes the point by sweeping her arm around it. "This, my friend, is why we need to go _shopping_."

He swipes a hand over his face. "I understand that. But _why_ are you making _me_ get this for you?"

"Because. I am a known thief, and nobody trusts me, while _you_ are a nice person who storekeepers trust not to steal their stuff."

She pushes him out of the house, and walks out as well, shutting the door behind her.

"Aaaand, it gives me time to go steal stuff and murder people without you harping on me about your moral code."

A small wolf charges up to them as she starts locking up, and without looking behind her, she pulls out a small dagger and stabs it, turning and stowing the key as she does so. Marcurio ignores the wolf, having not even registered that it was there.

"Murder people. That has nothing to do with a moral code, Aranel! That's just common… knowledge! Yes, knowledge. You don't go around killing people and say that it's okay!"

"I do."

He turns on his heel and heads towards the wagon. She might be kidding, and she might not be. He can never tell with her. Then he realizes something.

"Wait. Where am I going to get half of these?!"

"At the store."

Aranel flashes him another smile, walking over to her herb garden as she does so.

"I'm sure you'll be able to figure something out. Most of those are sold at the alchemists place, and the few that aren't might be in one of my stashes. Uh, but you might need some money… These things don't come cheap."

She flips him a medium sized coin pouch. Peering inside, he finds several gold pieces, and tries to total the worth in his head. He gives up after a few tries, and merely stows it in his armour. There's no point in arguing, as she'll likely just shoot him down for it. He looks up at the manor, taking in the turrets, the stable, and everything else that they've added to the house.

Lakeview Manor is an interesting place. Aranel is clearly in love, though he's not so sure about it himself. The place is incredibly dangerous, and altogether too expensive for any sane human being to afford. Not that he particularly disagrees with either notion. But he'd rather they not be in debt, or worse, dead. Aranel, on the other hand, doesn't seem to care. She's been spending the past week sinking more and more time into the house, as well as about half of er gold. It's kind of worrying, but he prefers not to think about it. And it's not like she's using it for anything practical, either. They just built a greenhouse addition on the side, which is interesting, but serves no real purpose. In fact, the only practical thing addition they have is the enchanter's tower. She built a library on the other side. The library is fairly congruent with her personality, though. Aranel has a bit of a book problem.

The place is constantly attacked by bandits, which is a pain, but the giant attacks, and the dragon attacks are far worse. Aranel can usually exterminate the threat in a few minutes, but sometimes it takes longer. There's been an increase in Elder dragons recently, and sometimes the fights can last up to thirty minutes long. Those instances usually culminate in Aranel losing it, and shouting at the dragon as often as possible, and chugging health potions. Marcurio usually tries to help, but since the one fight a few weeks ago, she hasn't let him near a dragon. It technically wasn't his fault. After all, she's the only one who can stand up to dragon fire and escape unscathed. Recently she's been more than a little paranoid, though, so he hasn't disagreed with her "stay out of the way during dragon fights" policy. She is his employer, and he doesn't want to disagree. While the killing (sometimes innocent) things bit isn't exactly his cup of tea, this lifestyle has turned out to be something that he enjoys above all else. And it's not like his oddly charismatic employer is someone he would have met otherwise. So he's thankful for the position he's in right now, even if the job comes with a few minor hiccups.

Recently, they've gotten animals at the manor. First a few chickens, then a cow. A horse was, of course, to follow, and although he doesn't know if bees count, bees. And a bard, though the poor man doesn't count as an animal. Marcurio forgets his name. And then, of course, they have the person who takes care of the house. She's the housecarl from Falkreath, he thinks. Her name is Rayya, or something. He's always nervous around the housecarls. They all give him disapproving looks, and then continue about their work while glaring daggers at him out of the corner of their eye. Aranel already owns around five properties, which is a lot, so she has as many housecarls, and he gets as many stares. He also notices that Aranel has slowly been arming all of them. Right now, he can't think of a single housecarl who doesn't have some form of powerful weapons and armour.

The bard, unfortunately, isn't armed. In fact, he's fairly useless, and only eats up their food and makes music. But, once again, Aranel insists on keeping him. So the bard stays.

Beyond the attacks, life on the lake is idyllic. Sometimes there's snow, occasionally rain, and typically bright sun. The one thing that has (so far) shattered the peace, was when a giant killed one of the chickens.

Right after an attack, they had gone to check on the animals. Instead of the three live chickens (who had some obnoxiously long names that Marcurio didn't want to remember), there were only two. The other was completely flattened, like the chicken version of hammered metal. Aranel had sworn vengeance, and had quite literally gone on a giant killing spree. They had buried the chicken in the garden (as fertilizer, she cited) and had gone on with their lives. Marcurio, however, had not expected Aranel to start using the chicken as an excuse not to work. Which she is still continuing to do. If he asks her to help him with something, her excuse is "mourning the chicken." If he gives her a gentle reminder about saving the world, her excuse is "mourning the chicken." Thankfully, she hasn't escalated it any further than that, but he's still worried.

He's waiting for his chance, however, to pull the phrase on her...


	19. Chapter 19: Shorts inside Skyrim Shorts

**Author's note: Once more, attempting something different. I have a little collection of prompts that I've gathered, but am too lazy to write about, so I've assembled a few and put them here. I'm still sick, which is a pain, so the updates will be shorter, but they will still be consistent.**

 **Something new planned for next Monday! I've recieved a character prompt from the core of justice, and am going to attempt to write a short story about them. It should be included in this set of stories, so keep an eye out for that!**

 **Please review, it is appreciated!**

 **Disclaimer: Not mine**

* * *

Aranel likes to think that she raises her kids right. She plays with them, and will give them a treat every once in a while, and lets them keep pets. For a warrior, with fists of steel and muscles of… steel, she is gentle when it comes to them. But, every once in a while her particular way of raising children is cause for some sort of martial dispute. Today, for instance. Today Sylgja apparently decided that letting the kids play with knives (and, apparently her ebony sword) was a bad idea. The resulting argument was enough to wake all of Whiterun, and perhaps the guard tower as well. Not that she cares. But Sylgja obviously does, and it took her all of an hour to finish with Aranel. Now, some time later, she may regret getting into that particular fight.

Sylgja has the keys to the house.

For some reason, every merchant in the entirety of Skyrim seems to be out of steel. Káno has been to all of the merchants he knows, and literally none of them have steel. Everyone seems to have rare materials, like "refined moonstone" and that orichalum stuff, but nobody has steel. All he wants to do is reinforce a helmet. But nobody has steel.

Marcurio wonders why there are dents in the wall of the training room the next room.

When they walk into the tavern, Aranel expects for a good night's sleep. Of course, this, like everything else, does not go according to plan. She somehow manages to summon a ghost by staying in its old room. And of course, as is the way of things, the ghost has some unfinished business. And that is how she ends up exploring more ancient catacombs while she is supposed to be on break, and inadvertently almost getting herself killed in the process.

It's not Marcurio's fault that he is incredibly clumsy. He can't help it that when he tries to avoid traps he ends up stepping on them. Káno thinks otherwise. After this most recent incident, they both agree that Marcurio will have to work on his agility. This most recent incident also has Marcurio frantically trying to find out how long it takes for hair to grow back. Káno has threatened murder if he steps on another trap, and he can't say that he is particularly eager to die.

Aranel can't always see the blindingly obvious. So when they are looking for something hidden, this can prove to be… unfortunate. As someone who can miss three mammoths standing right behind her on a good day, Faendal has to laugh and turn her in the opposite direction when they start looking for a specific cave.

At the end of the day, the people are the most important things in all of Skyrim. The motivation behind the greatest of warriors, the most musical of bards, the most famous scholars. It all boils down to the bonds that they have made with others. Because at the end of the day, those they have changed will stand for them.

And as the heroes of old and new relied on their bonds, so will the Dragonborn.


	20. Chapter 20: Announcement and drabble

**Author's note: HELLO. This update is a bit of an announcement rather than a story so please DO NOT SKIP THE AUTHOR'S NOTE.**

 **Like I said, every 4 chapters is a drabble. I'll be using these to make announcements if I have any, so don't skip the short ones.**

 **Monday will see a request chapter. I take character requests, prompts, or formatting ideas, so don't be shy to send me one!**

 **Chapter 25 will be a special chapter. I have no idea what I'm going to do for it, but it will be different. If you have any ideas on that front, let me know.**

 **I've decided to set some target chapters to reach for this group of shorts. My goal for _this_ series is to reach either 50 or 100!  
** **It would be nice to hear a bit of feedback on that front, since I'm not sure what a good length would be, and I don't know how much anyone is willing to read** **. Any special chapters I might do will depend on the length, so your ideas on that are much appreciated.**

 **END OF THE IMPORTANT STUFF PLEASE CARRY ON.**

 **Thank you everyone who has reviewed thus far! I enjoy reading any feedback that you leave, and it honestly makes my day.  
For those of you who haven't, you guys are great too, and it's nice to know that people are reading my work!  
*But seriously please review that would be great.***

 **Disclaimer: Not mine**

* * *

In an area off Markarth, they find their first Dwemer ruin. Ancient as the hills, the tower looms above the landscape like a stone guardian. It probably is. Watching over the place for centuries has taken its toll, however. The exterior is chipped and weathered. The inside, however, is well preserved. There are no enemies, nothing to be fought. Merely a staircase, and some fallen plates. Everything is quiet, and it smells like stone, and the dust of hundreds of years. On the outside, all there is is a balcony. And the darkness speaks of ages and people long forgotten.


	21. Chapter 21: Request fic: Walden (Part 1)

**Author's note: Sorry for the short update! This should be split up into two parts. The second, much longer bit, will be out on Friday.**

 **I got a PM a little while ago requesting a story featuring a specific character. To the kind champion of justice, here is your story. And yes, I swear, I shall actually finish it.**

 **I've hit a fairly busy point in my life right now, so the updates might be shorter than usual. Bear with me! Everything will go back to normal after a few weeks.**

 **Thank you everyone who has reviewed, and all of those who haven't. You're all amazing!**

 **Disclaimer: Not my game**

* * *

The travelers sit around the campfire. Remains of food litter the ground, and cooking utensils sit by the fire. None of the travelers are asleep, however. They sit around the fire, talking.

"You've heard the legend, of course."

The dark-haired man on the far right grins.

"Which one, you idiot?! I know thousands."

The woman speaking laughs.

"The one of the Dragonborn. He who saved this land from ruin? We've been talking about this for hours. Weren't you listening?"

The man shakes his head.

"Of course I was listening. You-"

"Okay look, I know that you weren't listening. But listen. Remember that woman that we met last week?"

"Yes."

"She was in that legend. The young woman, the housecarl? She was that old woman. And she told me a story."

* * *

Walden grinned, shaking his head. Hair flew around his face, and wet drops flew around the room. Lydia laughed at his antics, then grimaced in mild disgust as the water hit her face. She didn't like unwarranted projectiles, water droplets included.

"You're leaving today?"

It wasn't really a question, and they both knew it. He'd been planning this trip since the moment he heard from The Greybeards. And both of them knew that she was going to argue with him until he left.

"Yes. I have to, Lydia. I wish that I could stay a little longer, but as you know, the world awaits!"

Lydia frowned. The young man had only been with her for a few weeks, and he was already off to the Greybeards. Those damn old men, living at the top of their mountain of ice. Wielding too much power for any mortal man to be able to handle. And off they go, summoning this man who has never done a thing in his life to warrant that kind of power. She couldn't help but feel a little bit upset towards them. After all, this man was her charge. And she couldn't have him running off to the highest regions of the land, especially not when the dragons were back. He might not be strong enough…

Walden broke her out of her worrying with a pat on the back.

"I'm sure you'll be fine, Lydia. And don't worry, I'll be fine. I should be back in a few weeks, okay?"

She scowled even more than before.

"My thane, with all due respect, I am coming with you. You haven't heard the tales of High Hrothgar. It's not a safe place far anyone, even the so-called 'Dragonborn'."

He finally stopped looking jovial, obviously bothered by something. Perhaps the invoking of his new title had been the correct decision.

"Look, Lydia, I don't want you to come with me."

"And why ever not?! You need help, and if you go alone, you may die! The fate of the world rests with you, if you truly are what they say. You can't let that go to waste!"

Walden merely grinned, teeth flashing for the millionth time.

"I'm sorry."

And he turned and walked away, leaving her defeated. Lydia was shaking, and had her hands clenched into fists at her sides, but she still left him alone. If the damn fool wanted to die, then so be it. Let it never be said that she didn't at least try to stop him.

It wasn't until much later on that she realized what he had truly been trying to save. Not his pride, not his dignity, and most certainly not his life. Somehow, some way, her life was more important than that of the legendary Dragonborn's. And she treasured that gift.

* * *

"You can't possibly be done!"

The woman laughs.

"Of course I'm not. But we're losing Taz."

The dark haired man leans over, and pokes the sleeping girl.

"I'm sorry! I swear I didn't mean to fall asleep, it's just so late and I'm so sleepy and I can't help it-"

"-No, it's fine. I'll continue tomorrow. Laque, you're on guard duty tonight. Good luck!"

The dark haired man splutters out a complaint, but takes her command in stride. The rest of the travelers retreat into their bedding, and finally, all are asleep.

And as the fire dies down, the silhouettes of their forms cast long shadows on the trees.


	22. Chapter 22: Announcements & story piece

**Author's Note: WOW. It's really been a month. I'm soooo sorry for not posting anything lately, and for dropping out without explanation. I had guessed that life was going to pick up when I left off, but I hadn't imagined JUST how cray busy it would get. I really have no excuse, though. It's been a long few weeks, haha.**

 **This is a short little snippet of something I was writing for a different story. It fit with this one better, so I kept the theme and changed everything else. Regular length updates, as well as a continuation of this arc and the last story snippet should be coming back on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. The schedule will resume next Monday!**

 **So some _important news._**

 **I did say that I was going to try and make it to 50. However, regular updates will only continue for three more chapters (next week). Past that, I hope to update this twice a month, on irregular days most likely. While this is my pet project of sorts, I have many other story ideas for different fandoms that I would like to write up. As a result, my attention is somewhat diverted. I'm also working on several original stories at the same time, which makes it difficult to find the motivation to write, haha!  
All story arcs should be finished by 25, which I swear I'll do a special chapter for. **

**Best of wishes to anyone in school, summer is coming up soon!**

 **Please review! Constructive criticism is always helpful, as are compliments!**

 **Disclaimer: Not mine**

* * *

I _don't take too much stock in fate… A lot of that stuff comes out of the mouth of those who tell me I'll live a long and happy life. We both know that won't happen, and yet those crones think they have earned the right to charge me for lies. It's okay though. I lead a dangerous life anyway, so I have no doubt that I'm destined to die young. Hopefully gloriously, and on the field of battle. I'd hate to be one of the missing, or the fallen soldiers who died "dishonorable" deaths._

 _And you know what? It's funny. I don't even know what I'm fighting against. The Empire, maybe, or the Stormcloaks. Against the dragons? Perhaps. The Daedra? Not exactly. I live fast, and hard, and I live and die by the blade. That is the way of things. But I feel like so far, my quest has no purpose. I help people, only for them to have their homes burned down. I fight the dragons, only for stronger ones to appear. I murder, and I steal, and I loot, and where does that get me? The Empire wants me to join them. The Stormcloaks want a warrior. The people want a savior. They say I am their warrior, their savior. If they knew just how I live, would they still believe in me? I'm not the byproduct of some twisted whim of fate. I am my own person! And i refuse to conform to the standards set by people who have little concept of what it truly means to lead._

 _Enough of that. Last week, I got a lead on where the survivors of that town may be hiding. If he is among them, then perhaps I shall seek out my purpose in life. If not, he is merely another one I have failed to save. Another one whose "destiny" was to die._


	23. Chapter 23: Request fic: Walden (Part 2)

**Author's note: I know this is a bit late... in fact, where I am, I'm cutting it a little close to tomorrow. No matter! At least it's done, right?**

 **This is the companion piece to Chapter 21, my request character chapter. It is the last of the two parts of this character request, courtesy of a champion of justice (yes, that is their username). Thank you, a champion of justice! This was actually really fun to write, once I got started, and I might not have had the motivation if it were not for you. Best of luck in whatever your current endeavors may be, and thank you once more.**

 **I'm not sure if I did mention this, but yes, you can request chapters. I take prompts, your OC's, prompts about your OC's, prompts about my characters, you name it! Drop me a line if you want, and I'll do my best.**

 **I am a beta, so if you need those services, again, drop me a line!**

 **That's pretty much it! Thank you all for reading, I appreciate it.**

 **Please review, it makes my day.**

 **Disclaimer: Not mine!**

* * *

A shout, loud and ringing echoes through the camp.

"WAKE UP, YOU IDIOTS!"

The travelers rub their eyes, gritty with exhaustion. The grey light of morning filters through the trees, illuminating the remnants of last night's dinner. Pieces of cookware lie scattered about, and the charred pieces of wood from the fire are still warm. The horses are still tethered, and are lazily eating at the grass. The tall woman surveys the scene with thinly veiled disgust.

"I told you layabouts to clean up when I left for water! And it still looks exactly as I left it. Just what were you doing all this time?"

Taz, the small blond girl gives a sheepish grin.

"...Sleeping, Miss Leader Ma'am?"

"Don't call me that. It's not my name" The tall woman snaps, and turns to the rest of the travelers.

"You should all know better. Taz gets a pass, since she's a kid," A noise of protest from the girl in question. "But that doesn't mean the rest of you are allowed to lie around and pretend you're at home doing nothing."

The small camp springs into action as the last words leave her lips, and within minutes all are ready to hit the road once more. As they begin the journey, the small girl falls back to where the tall woman is riding along.

"Um I hate to be a bother, but… will you ever finish that story?"

The woman sighs, looking down.

"Fine."

* * *

Lydia didn't see him again for a long while after that. At the end of the first week, she wasn't too worried. After all, the mountain was a long way off, and there were many enemies to fight along the way. At the end of the second, she was still unconcerned. At the end of the third, she began to wonder. A month was a little more than necessary to reach the mountain and return, so maybe the three weeks wasn't so bad. However, it was possible that he had been delayed. Perhaps by a storm, or bandits. Maybe even an injury. But when the fourth week came to pass, she found herself becoming increasingly more worried for his safety. The man couldn't have been that delayed. So she sent a runner to Ivarstead, with a message containing a few choice words on just how late the damn man was. He returned empty handed.

The messenger informed her that her charge, the blasted Dragonborn had headed to some city to track… assassins? She didn't even want to think about it. The messenger was harried enough, and had left the message with the woman who ran the local inn. Apparently the town had been rumored to be haunted or something, and Walden had done everyone a favor by clearing up the rumors. And had killed more than a few bears. Again, she didn't want to think about it.

Unfortunately, the runner informed her, the city that Walden was heading off to was more than a month's journey on foot, and there might be destinations past that. To prove his point, he had pulled out a map and shown her the exact distance. She had sworn up a storm, slammed a dagger next the the poor man's hand, and had stormed out of the room.

For the next month and a half she had busied herself by cleaning. Cleaning all the time, fixing weapons, making sure to murder any bandits within a mile of Whiterun, and the like. But in her free time, she worried. And so she kept busy.

Then, a messenger came. From the town of Ivarstead. And he bore news of the Dragonborn, or so the guards at the gate said. She had sprung upon the man like a cat to mouse. He had almost squeaked in fright, but still handed her the message. Tearing it open, she had found news not much to her liking. Walden would be gone for far longer than she had anticipated, and was also tied up in the civil war. So Lydia sighed and went back to work. She scouted out guard posts, fought more bandits, managed all of Walden's financials, and still nothing.

She took up arms the next week.

The world outside Whiterun was harsh, and traveling by foot wasn't always a good idea, but she quickly learned how to make her way through the country. Walden wasn't with the Stormcloaks, or the Imperials, and everywhere she went he seemed to be just ahead of her. Rumors of his deeds spread like wildfire. People said he was amassing an army of his own. Others said he was to join the Stormcloaks. Or the Imperials. Some thought he was going to stay in the shadows, perhaps as one of the Thieves Guild, or… she refused to even think the name of that shadowy , though, she caught up with him. The ruins under Markarth, perhaps, weren't the greatest place to have a reunion, but they had to do.

He almost sent her home.

But her stubbornness prevailed, and he gave in.

And so, they waged war on those who stood between them and peace, even up until the final fight. For Alduin was no pushover, and while they managed to slay him, it came at a great cost. The Dragonborn was slain, and with him, the last hope for peace in the Empire.

With no balancing force in the civil war, and no army to rise up from the shadows and defeat both of them, the conflict lasted for over ten years. The land was laid to waste, and across the land people collapsed. Systems of government fell, ancient treaties were broken, and brother turned on brother. But throughout it, there was always one figure who stood above the rest. She strived to bring peace to the land, and in place of the man she served so faithfully, she brought the fight straight to both the Stormcloaks and the Imperials. In both cases, the leaders were either slain or forced to surrender and flee; she preserved their honor by telling no one of their exact fates. And with the power and experience she had gained from traveling with the Dragonborn, she pushed others to establish new systems of government. And when her task was done, she faded into obscurity, choosing to live a life of adventure in the wilds rather than lead. After all, to lead was always the job of the Dragonborn, not the ones who served him.

So now, though the land remains ravaged, and the people still savage at heart, the land is once more becoming stable, thanks to the fight of both her and her Thane.

* * *

The younger girl, Taz, blinks back tears as the story closes.

"I knew he had died for us, but why did he have to leave people like her behind? Why couldn't he have stuck around a little longer, just to see the land that he fought for become whole once more?!"

The woman smiles, softly.

"It was not his destiny. But it was hers to help the land, and so she did. We may all learn from their sacrifices. Lydia almost lost her goal in life when he died… But she found it again when the land needed her. And Walden, he completed his goal with the defeat of Alduin. And those others who loved him, all the people he had helped, they found a new destiny. One to continue the fight of the Dragonborn."

Taz looks up at her elder.

"How do you know that?"

"Because," the woman fixes her stare on the horizon, "I am Serana. And I was one of his companions… in more ways than one."

And with that she spurs her horse to the front of the group, leaving the girl to stare after her.


	24. Chapter 24: Cooking

**Author's note: The typical drabble chapter! I'm sort of annoyed by the "strong" female characters who are not allowed to show any interest in traditionally "feminine" chores. That doesn't make a character strong. That makes them unnecessarily biased against an integral part of society, aka, work. The same goes for the macho manly characters who aren't allowed to sew, or whatever. There's nothing wrong with that.  
** **Thankfully, I'm a writer. And I'm able to fix that in my writing.**

 **Reminder that the next chapter is supposed to be something special! That will be updated Friday or Saturday, depending on how difficult it is to write. After that, updates will be more spread out (I believe I said two per month.)**

 **Please review, it really does make my day!**

 **Disclaimer: Not mine**

* * *

Lydia didn't expect Aranel to be so into cooking. After all, she had met many warrior women, and few of them seemed to show any interest in household chores. But Aranel seemed to have a fascination with the culinary arts, and half the time that she was home, Lydia would find her cooking at the fire pit. Lydia started bringing home ingredients and leaving them by the fire. It pleased her to see her Thane using them, and so she kept it up. And when the marketplace saw Lydia with a basket full of herbs, none of them questioned it.


	25. Chapter 25: Quarterly Special chapter

**Author's note: Hello! I said this chapter would be "special" and, honestly, it's not really. But it is much longer, so there's that. Friendly reminder that today marks the end of any semblance of an update schedule. There should be two per month, minimum, but it won't be regular while I work on other projects. If I can finish those, then the schedule will eventually go back to normal! In the meantime, thanks for bearing with all the crazy changes.**

 **Okay, so scribensdraconis. You've been leaving such lovely reviews! I get really happy every time I read them, and I can definitively say that you made my week. So this chapter is really for you.**

 **Everyone else who reviewed thus far, thank you so much. Your positive comments and questions are the reason I'm still working at this piece. And to all those who have read this... thank you. I love you all for taking the time to visit!**

 **Remember, I take prompts, requests, characters, and everything under the sun. It gives me more of a reason to write, and you more of a reason to read, so feel free to send me your thoughts!**

 **Disclaimer: Not mine, etc, etc.**

* * *

 _ **The Dragonborn's journal. It is bound with hardened leather, and upon closer inspection, is coated with spells. There is a will on the first two pages, and the rest are covered in a messy scrawl. Shopping lists dot the pages, and small scribbles adorn the edges.**_

 _Came across another ruin today. I wanted to stop and take a look, but Marcurio was a little antsy, since it was nearly nightfall, and so we didn't go in. Pity. I've been looking for more draugr to practice my archery on. I got this new crossbow, and enchanted it. Its name if Frostbite, which Marcurio informs me is possibly the least interesting thing I could have picked for a weapon. But it is incredibly powerful. Just yesterday I took down a dragon with it, which is an impressive feat normally.  
_ _We're on the road back to Whiterun, after a month long trip to other parts. It's actually fairly nice to be on the road again, despite anything Marcurio might say. He protests mightily, since recently we've been having good food, drink, and warm beds. But it's almost winter, and I need to head back to make sure the kids are okay. Lydia is a great Housecarl, but she isn't the best with children. Their pets are another matter…_

 _-Káno_

 _Buy:  
_ _Steel (x20)  
_ _Iron (As much as possible)  
_ _Pickaxe (1)  
_ _Axe (1_

 _Misc. Please find:  
_ _Slaughterfish scales (x6)  
_ _Bear pelt (x3)  
_ _Saber cat teeth (x4)_

 _We've been on the road for about three days now, and we seem to be making good time. Frost hasn't set in in the warmer areas, and the mountains don't count anyway, since they're always snowy. We've also had very minimal encounters with enemies/wildlife. We took care of a few bears, though, so I can cross that off the list. Must remember to do that. We did have an encounter with a troll, though. That in itself is somewhat worrying. Usually don't see them in this area, so I'm not sure if it's some sort of omen or not. Marcurio seems to think that it's got something to do with the early winter, or whatever. I do trust him in that regard, but I'm not so sure he's correct. Doesn't matter. It's getting to dark to see what I'm writing, so I'm going to cut this off for tonight._

 _-Káno_

 _Took care of another bear today. They're getting to be a real pain in the neck. Something we're carrying must be attracting them to us, because I don't think I've ever been attacked as much as this in the span of a week. On the plus side, we've been traveling for around a week, and have made about half the distance. I'll be able to see Sofie and Lucia soon, which sounds good to me. Our rate of travel might get to be a little problematic, unfortunately. The horses are getting tired, and though I don't feel any fatigue, Marcurio says I look like death...  
_ _After looking over some of my previous entries, I have realized that I quote Marcurio more than I probably should be. Maybe because he's the only person I really interact with? Who knows. Might as well be married for the amount of times I include his (rather unnecessary) opinion in this journal. Oh well._

 _The horses are fed and Marcurio is taking first watch. I'm turning in for tonight._

 _-Káno_

 _Never mind. Blasted dragon attacked right after I went to sleep. I'm taking first watch._

 _Marcurio has been pestering me as to why I keep this journal. I actually don't know? Maybe it's because if I die, then maybe someone will find this and know what happened. That is, if I remember to write in it. I've been keeping up on the journal entries, though! They're all up to date, except one or two. So there. It's also… kind of how I remember Him. But never mind that. I got a lead on Him just to other week. If I'm right, He might still be alive. That journal… he left clues of a sort. Clues in his personality, and where He was hoping to take the rest of His village. But I'm not sure. That will be my next quest. My first is to make it home. Which is marginally harder than it sounds._

 _-Káno_

 _Halfway through that blasted mountain range! As soon as we're done there, we'll be within sight of home. Not bad. We had to stop a day to let the horses rest. Dealt with a giant. The usual. It's kind of funny. The first frost hasn't set in in other areas of the land, but up here in the mountains there is eternal winter. It gets on my nerves. I don't particularly care for the heat, but it's much nicer to know that the heat will (eventually) give way to cooler weather. Not in the mountains, though. Eternal winter. Crazy, isn't it?_

 _-Káno_

 _Dealt with a frost troll, a dragon, and three more bears today. In under an hour. Which is a little out of the ordinary, but… oh well. We got through the mountains after those fights, and are in sight of home! Thank god. I'm sure the kids will be glad to see me, though I'm getting the feeling that Lydia miiight not appreciate how late I am. It's probably okay, since I'm alive though. None of the horses were injured, and Marcurio only had some minor scrapes, which I took care of via healing magic._

 _-Káno_

 _Need to buy (Farengar?):  
_ _Light spell  
_ _Familiar spell (?)  
_ _Elemental, what's it called, Flame atronahch, ateronach, atronach?  
_ _That ice thing I wanted  
_ _Oh a soul trap spell thing should be good too_

 _Made it back home! Our trip took a much shorter time than I expected which as nice. On the downside, there was an increase in attacks. I suppose it's because of the weather changes, maybe they're growing bolder? I'll have to check with someone who understands animal behaviour. Lucia and Sofie were ecstatic to see me. Then again, I_ _ **did**_ _bring presents, so they may have been happy about those. Lydia was pleased as well, partially because I was safe and sound, and partially because she doesn't have to take care of the kids anymore. Sofie tells me that she snuck the rabbit into Lydia's room a night or so ago. She was giggling too hard to tell me the rest, but I get the idea. Since I'm finally home, I guess… I guess the next option is to track down the lead I got. I'll start with analyzing the paper._

 _-Káno_

 _I don't care what the stereotypes about warriors are, I was able to trace that damn paper to a city on the coast. There's a lot of lore surrounding it, especially necromancy. If what I think has happened has occurred, then I might not be in for the reunion I was anticipating. Hopefully it hasn't, but if my friend has become the victim of a dark necromancy rite… I might have no choice but to kill him. Which would be even worse than having to lose him to fire.  
_ _It's too bad that I have no idea what exactly happened. If only I had been closer to the village… Now isn't time to dwell on the past, though. I must make preparations. I leave within the week, for fear that the trail might go cold. How I wish that the note included more details._

 _-Káno_

 _We set out today. Bought all my materials from the local merchants, though nobody sells steel. Thankfully I had that extra set of armour I had refined. Lucia sulked in her room when I went to say goodbye. Sofie was extremely tearful, as usual, and Lydia thinks this is a fool's errand anyway, so she wore an expression similar to Lucia's. It's bad enough having_ _ **two**_ _children in the house… Had to go on the other horses, ours are still weary. I did try to convince Marcurio to stay home, but, I admit, I'm glad he's here. He told me that he'd probably get on Lydia's nerves anyway, which is fair.  
_ _Farengar sold me those spell books, and then I robbed him blind with my dragon scales and bones. He was all too happy to buy them. Sometimes I feel bad about draining all the merchants of their wares but it's their fault for buying so much.  
_ _I love Whiterun. It'd be nice if I could just spend a month at home, without having to worry about those blasted dragon attacks, or going to see the Greybeards. Or whatever. Not to say that I haven't visited the Greybeards. Agh who am I kidding this is_ _ **my**_ _journal._

 _-Káno_

 _Journey took about three days. Shorter than I thought. Then again, it did help that I was able to teleport us to a town close to the one we're in now. Not many attacks, which, compared to the frequency of those on the last trip was surprising. We arrived at nightfall, got a room at a local inn. Everyone here seems to be friendly at first, but whenever I try to find out more information on the supposed necromancy they turn cold. What if all of them are in on it? Or, worse, undead. I'll have to get close enough to check the pulse of someone, I guess. Marcurio got the same reactions wherever he went as well. We'll have to be careful. I was hoping we'd be able to rest here, but as the people seem… untrustworthy, we've decided to keep a watch. I'm first, si for now I'm just going to scribble in this book. Got nothing better to do._

 _-Káno_

 _Still can't get any information out of those people about a possible necromancer! But, at a cave just by the seaside, I found fresh blood, and some of the elements needed for a reanimation ritual. The tide had covered the opening, and… I can't swim. Marcurio volunteered to check it out, but I didn't want him going down by himself. We'll look into it tomorrow, when the tide is out. In the meantime, we're spending some time apart, as always, trying to speak with the villagers. Wait, no, he just got back. He's taking first watch. Damn. I hope this all turns out to be okay, because at this point in time I'm getting the feeling that we might not make it out unscathed._

 _-Káno_

 _Marcurio has gone missing._

 _I wrote that in a panic two nights ago. I haven't slept since, and still haven't been able to find him. When I got up that morning, we split up as usual to go for one more attempt to question the villagers. When the tide went out, our plan was to meet up by the cave. But when I got there, he didn't show up. He never showed up. So I dropped by our rooms, and he wasn't there. I left a note for him to stay in the room when he got back in case he got there before me, and set out to see if I could find him. I haven't stopped looking since then, and the one place I haven't gone yet is the cave. I suppose he must be in there. But, and it pains me to even write this, I- I can't go in. It terrifies me, the idea of being in that space, surrounded by water. What if the tide comes in and I'm still inside?  
_ _But then I think. What if Marcurio went inside and got trapped? Perhaps there was a cave in, or perhaps he was forced in by an enemy spellcaster. In that case, he might not be able to free himself. So I'm going tonight. I know a place to store this, which is (hopefully) waterproof. I don't want my journal pages ruined. In case this is the last of me… I have my will made out on the first two pages, as well as stored with Lydia in Whiterun. In the case that Marcurio does not survive, anything which goes to him is to go to Lydia. Did I write that? I'm too nervous to think straight. It's time to leave._

 _-Káno_

 _That night, the night I wrote that. It was cool. The moon wasn't quite full. The tide had just left, and I remember standing by the seaside. I made it down here, though. I've been in this cave for… I can't even tell how long. I though it would be simple, an in and out sort of thing. It wasn't. Once the tide came in. It washed all the way up to my mouth, and I thought I was going to die, I couldn't even scream, I almost fell. That was the most terrifying moment of my life. I've got a light spell, but it only lasts a few minutes. There are no torches. I'm scribbling this by the light of that spell, and even as I write it's fading. Time to press on._

 _I found the necromancer. Damn him, for all that he has done. I've been observing him from the shadows for an hour or so. He's sleeping now. It's time to strike._

 _I was wrong. It's not just a necromancer. There's a whole vampire coven here. Is the town where the rest of them reside?_

 _Looking back on those last journal entries, all I can recall is utter terror, anger, and grief. I feel it even now. They didn't kill Marcurio, thank the stars. They were intending to keep him as food. Even as I write this, he is resting by my side. The town is burning, which is fitting. I can almost warm my hands in its blaze. What a pity, the only thing that spoiled it for the first few minutes were the screams. I was right, though. The entire town was a vampire coven. They had found Marcurio loitering outside the entrance to their food store, and by the looks of it, knocked him out and dragged him under. Did I mention that they are remarkably good swimmers?  
_ _These were intelligent, too. They hid the entrance to their food supplies somewhere they could reach at all times, but where no ordinary human could get to if the tides weren't just right. Down there… all I could smell was the stench of rotten flesh. Inside many, nearly hundreds of small cages, there were humans. Some merely skeletons, waiting to be- disposed of. Others were still alive, though barely. It was a sight which I am sure I shall never forget. All I can smell if their rotting flesh, and all I can hear are the whimpers of pain. One thing I also hope I never forget is the screams that the vampires made as I burned them… Marcurio is waking. I shall leave off this narrative for now. There are others who need my help._

 _-Káno_

 _I did get the other ones who lived. The survivors. Some had been bitten. None were full vampires, so I teleported them to the nearest altar. They will live, I saw to that. As for Marcurio, he's fine. He's sleeping soundly, and I refuse to wake him. But within his hand, I did find a scrap of paper. It matches the one I found, in both handwriting and composition._

 _-Káno_

 _Marcurio informs me that the one I seek is hidden. The vampires knew exactly who we were. And they knew I'd come. They were hoping to ransom him, but their plans went awry as soon as they caught Marcurio. They knew that I can't swim. Even now my blood runs cold when I think of exactly what they could have done. I am returning to the side of the cliff, where Marcurio tells me they kept the rest of their "food." He's staying behind. I thoroughly obliterated the coven, and it's daytime, so he should be safe. There's cover nearby in case of a dragon, so that's accounted for as well. I hope- no, I pray that I find the one I seek. Hopefully, after that, this blasted search will be done._

 _-Káno_

There is a scraping of a lockpick, and with the creak of well oiled hinges, the door disguised as rock swings open. In the entrance, silhouetted by sunlight, a young man with black hair stands. He peers in nervously, brushing hair out of his face as he steps inside. The smell of rotting flesh once more water outside. He, however, doesn't seem to react, so focused is he on searching the cavern. His eyes scan the rows of cages, some once more filled with bones, others with humans and animals in various states of decay. Finally, a cage in the far right corner catches his eye, and he steps forward. From a pocket in his tunic, he pulls out a handful of lockpicks. His hands are shaking so badly that the first and second ones break. But, of course, the third manages to unlock the door of the cage. A limp figure tumbles forward, and squatting, the young man catches it. Another young man, closer to a boy and with brown curly hair tumbles forward. And the first pulls him up to his feet, eyeing him with the air of one who is deeply concerned. The brunette manages to pull his eyes open long enough to catch a glimpse of his saviour. As they do, the first breaks into a glowing smile, and pulls the other forward into an embrace, speaking as he does.

"Khilheru."


	26. Chapter 26: Visitors

**Author's note: Hello everybody! I really was planning to be a bit more productive this week, but some things are not meant to be. This is the product of an hour of sleep, a lot of caffeine, and a very physically taxing morning. It's a bit all over the place, and I'll likely be continuing in the same vein for a while, but for now just enjoy the random snippets of insanity. (I'm working on three art commissions, two challenge fics, as well as actual life and two other fic collections. It's a bit nuts.)**

 **I take requests regarding dialogue, prompts, and literally everything else, so please PM me if you have an account and an idea, or leave a review if you... don't have an account. I'm free to beta as well.**

 **I appreciate reviews, since honestly constructive criticism and positive comments are the only thing keeping me alive at this point, so leave some feedback if you can. ANYway. On to said insanity snippets.**

 **But wait. Disclaimer: Not mine.**

* * *

Adapting to a new environment is something that humans, and most of Skyrim's races are good at. Unfortunately, none of them seem to care much for said adaptation, or any of the side effects that come with it. In this case, Aranel isn't to happy about what exactly she has to do to adapt to her new lifestyle: that of a mother and wife. She's always been a fighter, Sylgja reflects, and settling down probably wasn't on her "to do" list. But then they met, and it's pretty obvious that their world was going to turn upside down from there on out. So their parenting can be described as… "haphazard" at best, and nothing short of laughable at worse. Of course, it's difficult to adapt from an old lifestyle to a new one, with a beautiful but absent wife, two somewhat (maybe very) rowdy children, and the endless parade of visitors, salesmen, priests (someone thought it would be funny to hire an exorcist to "fix" her wife), and everything else that seems to be vaguely humanoid and capable of sentient thought.

She was a miner before this, so of course she's had her fair share of working with people. Cruel overseers, kind guards, and everyone in the morally grey area. She remembers (very vividly) the one time she hid three illegal skooma smugglers in her house. They had been sentenced to death in Riften, and had come across the mine on their way out of the place. Despite being convicts, and perhaps not the most savory of characters, all three had been very sweet, and had even paid her for her hospitality. She sometimes wonders if they managed to evade capture. Sylgja hopes they did, though with the people in charge of Riften, she isn't very confident about it. They were nothing compared to the orcs who had come through the week prior, and the girl who claimed to be the last of a dead race the week before _that_. So when she is forced to deal with people who want to talk to Aranel, or the occasional salesmen, or the wandering prince on some noble quest, she takes it in stride.

Aranel isn't as good with visitors, and since the children idolize her, they follow her example when it comes to dealing with people. The last one went running down the street on fire. Sylgja knows because she was on her way back from the blacksmith's when it happened, and she was the one who made sure he didn't burn to death. Despite that, they do have a fairly healthy relationship with the people of Whiterun, and since Aranel is a Thane, most of her activities are conveniently overlooked. Such as the time that the neighbours witnessed Aranel chasing Lucia down the street, apparently screaming something about weaponry. But Sylgja doesn't want to know about that, and so she makes sure to deal with everyone else who may come their way. Aranel may be kept in the dark (most of the time), and Lydia may suspect what is keeping them quiet, but the civilians are far too frightened of her to say anything about their family's odd antics. And so, life goes on.


	27. Chapter 27: Solstheim Interlude

**Author's note: I made an error in time management, so this update is 8 days late. I'm sooo sorry ;-;**

 **On a related note, I've gotten a short story prompt from haydenunstopable, which will be the focus of chapter 29, since 28 is going to be the typical drabble chapter. Feel free to PM, or review with prompts! I love receiving them, and it helps to get more than two chapters out.**

 ***THIS IS IMPORTANT, PLEASE DO NOT SKIP***

 **I need help with something. I want to change the follower of either Aranel o** **r Káno** **but I'm not sure who I could use as a replacement. Any suggestions or ideas would be much appreciated, even if they're from a guest user or anonymous!**

 **The sooner I can get feedback, the sooner I'll write the new character into a chapter. I'll also accept OC's, if you don't mind me possibly butchering a character :/ Either way, it's up to you guys. But I really do need help on this, so please give me some feedback. It's very important, so I need as many opinions as possible. Thank you so much in advance!**

 **Disclaimer: Not mine**

* * *

"Snow is horrible. Now, that isn't to say that all snow is horrible. But I'd be lying if I said that I loved it. It's cold, and wet, and it gets everywhere. Everywhere. Then, whenever I go into an inn, or a house, all of it melts and I'm left standing there in an ever growing puddle, trying to look serious while talking, or ordering, or whatever. Solstheim is no exception to this 'rule of snow.' If anything, it's worse. In skyrim, blizzards are rare, and occur while high in the mountains, or not at all. The rest of the land is covered in beautiful trees, waterfalls, and grass. Green grass, which actually grows. In areas where it isn't snowing, that is. Sure there are rocks, and some of the more inhospitable regions of the land feel like a constant frost spell, but those places are easy to avoid. I simply don't conduct business up there."

Marcurio tolerates the rant with his typical, patient silence. He knows exactly why Káno is going on and on about Solstheim and exactly how much he hates it, and it's not to say he isn't thankful for that, but it does get a little repetitive at times. Káno likes to narrate things to himself, which, Marcurio suspects, is one of the reasons he keeps a journal. Probably a leftover habit from childhood, the quirk has obviously stuck with him, and has turned into a rather endearing oddity about his friend- he can't really say employer anymore- that few other people seem to get access to. These full blown rants, on the other hand, are somewhat rare, and are usually his way of exhibiting stress. Their current predicament would be the best example of such.

"However, Solstheim is completely different. About half the island is dirt. Not grass, but dirt and ash. The land is dark and barren, and hot as fire. Some locals say it's from the volcano, others say it's magic, others say it's both. Either way, those regions are torture. The north side of the island, however, is anything but dirt. In fact, nobody really knows if there even is dirt, so far underneath the snow it must be. There, the winds constantly swirl, and snow hails from seemingly every direction. Putting an end to Miraak didn't seem to do anything, either. The land is still as cold and barren as ever. That area sees a small band of nords, the Skaal, as well as some ugly tiny blue creatures, which hurl spears at anyone who falls afoul of them. Kind of like us, you say?

He hasn't, but Káno doesn't stop to wait for a reply, and plows on ahead. As usual.

"Exactly. Exactly like us. One of the damn things even left a dent in my armor. It's not as bad as the Dwarven ballista, or whatever they're called, but still. I spent weeks working on that set of armor! I spent gold working on that set of armor! And one of those little… gremlins tries to damage it? No. Not okay. Also, apparently, there are also evil bears? What are they called, werebears? That doesn't sound right. But this land is dangerous. And it-"

A loud screech comes down from the mountains, causing Káno to lose his train of thought. He almost drops Marcurio's arm, but manages to grab it and maneuver him back upwards. They both glance at the sky, beads of sweat chilling on their faces. Presently, Káno turns, having decided that whatever it was meant them no harm (at the current moment) and they both continue on. They had gotten into a couple fights earlier, which had unfortunately resulted in Marcurio sustaining multiple leg injuries, and Káno losing more blood than he had thought possible. Marcurio still has yet to see where his companion's injuries were, as that blasted Daedric armor hides everything, but he hopes they aren't too extensive. On the other side of the island from any settlements, in the freezing cold, without health potions, and **with** multiple injuries is not how he hopes to die, and Marcurio is sure that Káno doesn't want to go like that either. Káno looks at him, obviously concerned by the look on his follower's face, and begins to move faster, quickening his pace to a half run, and shunting Marcurio to a position where he is able to carry him rather than merely support the other's weight. Marcurio objects rather strenuously, voicing his fears of Káno leaving a trail for possible enemies to follow. Káno, naturally, responds by turning and shouting at the ground with some sort of ice thing, the frost rune perhaps, which easily covers the ground.

"You really shouldn't expend energy like that, you know."

Káno brushes his concerns off, carrying them towards a nearby cave. He sets Marcurio down outside, handing him a portion of wrapped meat.

"I'm going inside to check it out. Wait here, don't get yourself killed."

Marcurio partially wants to argue with his friend, but upon hearing the short, terse, sentences, and seeing the fearful glint in Káno's eyes, he stops himself. The other man is frightened, as is he, and he realizes with a start that Káno is dripping blood onto the snow. He opens his mouth to mention it, and with a flash and the smell of smoke, Káno is gone.

Marcurio sighs, and leans against the stone, unwrapping the meat. It gives him back some of his energy, and he finds himself in the mood to tend to his wounds. Pulling out the cloth roll of bandages, he wraps and tends to the wounds which are accessible, not wanting to expose those underneath his boots until they are- unfrozen. The wind howls around him, and it seems like Miraak's voice still echoes in the frozen chill. Marcurio shivers, drawing in on himself. Miraak is dead, thankfully, but seeing his friend wrapped in Hermaeus Mora's vines for hours on end was a nerve wracking experience, and one he would not care to repeat. Káno has spoken little of what transpired in the realm of knowledge, but Marcurio sees a look in his eyes which speaks of experiences far too terrible to recount. And there is fear. But not of Miraak, never of Miraak. There was fear for the Skaal, and the Dunmer. There was fear for the lovely young woman they had brought with them into the ancient crypts. And there was horror, as they had seen her father slaughtered by the being with whom Káno had made a deal. Now, there is fear for Marcurio.

He ties off the last bandage tighter than he meant to, and winces as the dull ache confirms his mistake. Káno bursts out of the cave as he does so, sees the wince of pain, and almost immediately drops to his knees.

"Are you okay?! Did something happen?! Are you in pain?"

He smiles fondly, glancing at his friend before untying the bandage. Káno is too worried about what could have happened to notice, and is jabbering on about some safe spot to rest and checking him over and whatever else seems to be going through his mind. Marcurio lets the tirade run its course, finishes tying the bandage, and stands up.

"Káno, it's fine. Let's find that spot you were talking about, so that we may heal."

His friend immediately stops talking, opting to nod instead, and leads the way into the cave. It's actually much nicer than he had thought, being sheltered from the elements and with a natural pool and… actual herbs. In fact, it's something of a blessing that they managed to find a somewhat nice cave out in the middle of nowhere. Káno rolls a large rock into the opening of the cave, effectively sealing it away from any enemies, as well as the driving snow. There is only the room they are in, no other passages, and his companion finally sits down as soon as the stone is in place. Removing his helmet, Marcurio sees just how badly the man is injured for the first time. There are multiple abrasions on his face, as well as a long, but thankfully shallow, cut which runs from near his ear to his chin, cutting through the corner of the mouth. If it leaves a scar, it will be faint, but, he reflects, in the meantime Káno is going to look quite a bit more intimidating. Glancing from his comrade's face, he worriedly notes the blood dripping from some of the chinks in his armor. However, Káno refuses to take it off, and so Marcurio sets about cleaning and bandaging his own wounds. They silently light a fire, which immediately begins to warm the small area, and Marcurio sets about the task of cleaning his armor and clothing. As he begins, Káno speaks.

"Did I ever tell you how I managed to buy all the houses in every hold?"

Marcurio laughs, shaking his head.

"I didn't even know you had a house in every hold… why, exactly, did you feel the need to own all that property?"

Káno shrugs.

"I'm not sure… it was some time before I met you, when I was traveling without a companion. Faendal wasn't with me at the time, and I didn't feel like working on some of my more pressing jobs, so I decided to acquire more property. Don't get me wrong, I had intended to only get a house in Riften. But then one of the guards, no not my friend in Windhelm, the one in Riften, mentioned that there was a house for sale in the capital. I got pretty distracted after that…"

He rubs the back of his neck with one hand, wincing as it comes away spattered in blood. He quickly lowers the hand, keenly aware of Marcurio's concerned look, and continues.

"I had already helped a lot of people in each separate area. So fulfilling that requirement was fairly easy. But I had next to no money at the time, having sunk almost all of it into training. Those men are thieves, I tell you, cold blooded thieves. Anyway, I was running around all over the country, trying to scrape enough money together to furnish close to five houses- five? Maybe six, I don't remember. "

Káno pauses for effect, and chuckles at the look on Marcurio's face. Marcurio doesn't find it as funny, and promptly shuts his mouth.

So I started haggling. And by haggling, I mean, driving the prices up to proportions that should not be allowed. Anywhere. The shopkeepers would go bankrupt. As it is, I drained at least seven merchants of their savings, and a good deal more have only a bit of gold to spare. I'm not sure why they buy all the goods I give them… it's a little odd. Maybe they just like me? Anyway, I somehow managed to get a pretty hefty sum of money together, and promptly visited every, single, hold. Every hold. By the end of the day, I had outfitted all of the houses with furniture, the housecarls were moved in, and I was broke again. And as they do, the Jarls sent word to the other holds, notifying them that I was a Thane in their court.

The problem was, since the missives were all penned the same day, they arrived at each other's courts with the next batch of mail, and the official documents. So within the week, I had letters from all of the Jarls, questioning as to what exactly I was doing, and why they had received letters from the others. It was one of the funniest things I've ever set in motion, and I can tell you that I couldn't actually step into their halls for quite a while after that, if to simply avoid the legal hassle. Things calmed down after a bit, but I've got the name Káno Six Thane across several holds, and every once in a while, one of the palace guards will remark on it."

Marcurio grins, filing away the nickname for later. He had often wondered where the friendly jests that came his comrade's way were from. Another mystery solved.

Káno leans against the wall, and begins removing his armor. The undertunic is drenched with blood, and his leggings have fared no better. He glances at the pool which lies underneath their feet, and with a nod from Marcurio, slips in. He comes up a moment later, spluttering, and almost immediately hops back out. Marcurio bursts into laughter as he sees his friend drenched from head to toe, and looking for all the world like a wet cat. A muttered curse floats his way, and he jumps as a moment afterwards Káno shouts at the water. Flames erupt on the surface, heating the water at least temporarily, and the other man quickly walks back in. After a short period of time, in which Marcurio finishes his cleaning, Káno gets back out, now clean. He's much paler without the layer of dirt, but after climbing up onto the ledge, Marcurio sees that his wounds are obviously not as bad as he had thought. Both of them sit in silence for a while, Marcurio mixing potions, and Káno tending to his own wounds. And in the silence, and the warmth, Marcurio realizes something.

No matter what happens, they are both going to be fine.


	28. Chapter 28: Eyes

**Author's note: A drabble chapter to officially start off the month of July! The next chapter should be up by Friday, while I still have time to write.**

 **What would you guys think of bringing Khilheru into the household? He was rescued in the last mini story arc, and while I don't want him to be the focus of too many arcs in the future, it would be fun to keep him around as one of the permanent side characters.  
Or a POV character, on occasion.**

 **haydenunstopable, I swear your prompt is coming. It's literally the next chapter. I didn't want to write it as a drabble, though, so I didn't use it for this one. Glad you liked the bit with the ice water! I had a lot of fun writing that part, since it's enjoyable showing Káno's less serious side.**

 **Reviews and requests are appreciated, even more so if they concern what I've been asking you guys about!**

 **Disclaimer: Not mine**

* * *

Sylgja has had enough. Every time she wakes up, it's there, staring at her. Its eyes glow in the near darkness, and she has to bury her head underneath the covers to avoid screaming. But every time she looks out, it's still there.

Unfortunately, Aranel is almost never home, and when she is, it stays far away.  
But when she's gone, it comes back. It's getting to the point where she is starting to think that perhaps closing and locking her doors is the only solution.

In the meantime, she can only tell Sofie to "shut that damn fox away."


	29. Chapter 29: Paint!

**Author's Note: I said this would be out before Friday, and here it is! I'm still incredibly busy, but the next chapter is most definitely going to be something different. It's probably going to be a good deal longer than this one, for the record. About 5 times as long, and in a different style. (It's drafted out already so it should be up some time next week.)**

 **haydenunstopable, this one is for you! Forgive me for taking liberty with your prompt, but since you weren't too specific, I just did what I wanted :)  
** **I hope you like it even if it doesn't turn out to be what you were expecting.  
** **I'm planning to do something in this vein for the next drabble chapter, since I've gotten this one out of the way, so if you _were_ expecting something else then be on the lookout. Feel free to send in some more of these open ended prompts, I had a lot of fun trying out this one!**

 **Please review! I really do need feedback, even if it's only minimal. Thank you so much, you guys are amazing!**

 **Disclaimer: Not mine, of course**

* * *

Sylgja doesn't even want to know what happened when she gets home. At first glance, the house looks like the victim of some particularly inane prank. It's partially covered in a viscous substance, which falls from the roof in large drops, and is pooling in the shrubbery at their front door. As she gets closer, she discovers that said substance is multicolored, and there are small bins and brushes lying about. Then realization hits, and she glances to her wife, who is standing in the entryway of their small house.

"Is this… paint?"

Arane winces, trying to hide paint- for yes, Sylgja perceives, it is paint- covered hands behind her back. There are streaks of red adorning her face, and since she's in plainclothes, the various splotches of purples, greens, and other colors are glaringly obvious. It would be almost endearing, that is, if their house hadn't been the victim. Sylgja is thankful that Lydia is temporarily out of town. Lydia might have a heart attack if she comes back and the house still looks like this. In fact, a sudden thought occurs to her, isn't the longsuffering woman coming back tomorrow? She sighs, and resists the urge to bury her head in her hands. Having a yelling match is not going to help anything, and it certainly won't get them anywhere.

"Where are the children, Aranel."

The question can't even be classified as such, considering the flatness with which it is delivered. Aranel just looks even guiltier, and from behind her the door opens.

"Has mama come back yet?"

Aranel slams the door shut, ignoring the muffled squeaks which come from behind the now shut door. She grins, clearly nervous. Sylgja just stares.

"So I'm sure you want to know what happened to our house."

Sylgja merely gestures at the one side of the house which is covered, and then motions for her to go ahead. Aranel swallows, and then with a wolfish grin begins spinning a tale.

"While you were away doing business with Eorlund and all the merchants in town, we were obviously attacked. I had taken the kids… outside the city, to get a breath of fresh air. A highwayman set upon us, meaning the kids and myself, while we were outside of the walls, and I was forced to kill him. I quickly dispatched of one, but he had apparently called in friends, and they ambushed us while we were on our way back. I sent the kids back to the house, and dealt with the rest of my foes, only to come back and find that the kids had been kidnapped! *So tragic, I know.* The villains had carved a ransom message into the left side of the house, which was in rather ugly handwriting - is it writing if it's carved into a wall? It was full of expletives, too. I rescued the kids, and we took it upon ourselves to protect the innocent villager's eyes from that note by painting the side of the wall. It's… it's not quite done yet, obviously."

Sylgja can't quite refrain from laughing. She has absolutely no idea what possessed Aranel to paint the side of the house, as she is (most likely) not telling the truth. Or what made her drag the children into this weird painting crusade. Then again,there is the very slight chance that her wife is telling the truth. Stranger things have happened.

Out of the corner of her eye, she notices something. Several of the townsfolk are creeping closer, obviously wondering why she is standing in the middle of the road. If they get any closer, she's going to have to start beating them off with a broom. Or Aranel's ebony sword. Either is fine with her. She hisses to Aranel, "Are you going to do something about this blasted paint on the wall before they start wondering? Or are you just going to leave it like that?"

Aranel examines the wall, obviously not having thought about this. Some of the townsfolk have glimpsed her handiwork on the wall, and are laughing amongst themselves. While they have mostly learned to deal with her little idiosyncrasies, this one is new. Definitely new. In fact, if these small things continue, it seems as if they won't have reason to fear the Dragonborn anymore. Sylgja knows this, and she pushes Aranel towards the wall.

"Fix it, genius. If you can come up with a tale like the one you just rattled off, then you can figure out a way to get all that paint off my my wall."

"Our wall," Aranel corrects, absentmindedly. Sylgja can tell that she is mentally running through a list of solutions. Despite the way she can behave, Aranel is clearly very smart, and when a problem arises it usually takes her only a short while to figure it out. This time, however, she comes up short. Shrugging, she turns back to Sylgja with a look of slight despair. Sylgja is having none of that today, however, and she thinks through the stuff she's seen Aranel do. Finally snapping her fingers, she points at Aranel, who looks slightly spooked at the sudden noise.

"Shout at it."

"What."

Sylgja smiles, having found an easy solution.

"Shout at it. You know, with that mysterious power that you keep bragging about all the time. I'm sure you've got some way to blow the paint off."

"And the wall with it," Aranel mumbles. Sylgja simply glares at her. More people are gathering, and whole the crowd as a whole looks somewhat amused, she doesn't want to think about what type of gossip will begin to circulate once the guard come over. That one young man… Aranel calls him Ran, she thinks. He is one she most certainly does not want near the house. He talks too much.

Aranel is still sizing up the wall, as Sylgja surfaces from her musings. But, as she watches, she draws herself up, and Shouts. It doesn't quite blow the wall of, and from the look on Aranel's face, she is quite surprised. However, the force does blow the paint everywhere. And by everywhere, this also means all over the civilians. The kids, who have poked their heads through the door, immediately stick them back inside as blobs of red and orange hit the door. Within seconds, the crowd is colored in all manners of multi hued paints. In fact, they look rather festive for a group who all seem to have an expression of utter shock on their faces. Aranel's face pales, and Sylgja feels like she's probably having the same reaction. Aranel takes off, shooting through the backyard and around the square. Within seconds, she's out of sight, leaving Sylgja staring at the stunned villagers.

Then someone laughs. And as soon as they do, the whole crowd begins to laugh. After a few minutes of near hysterical laughter, the crowd disperses, each chuckling to themselves. In minutes, the square is clear. Sylgja is stunned, but as soon as the crowd disperses she heads back inside. Aranel is going to have hell to pay when she gets home, but in the meantime, Sylgja is going to laugh as hard and as long as she can.


	30. Chapter 30: Tangled threads

**Author's note:** **Special chapter for number 30! 3/10 of the way to my goal is not exactly a reason to celebrate, but I wanted to change it up a bit before getting back into the mini plots with Kano, and changing Aranel's follower and all that.**

 **I'm going to die this took a solid day and I haven't edited it and it's a hot mess in places but I'm going out of state so here it is, in all its unedited glory. This took so long I swear if you people tell me it's too long I will club someone. Anyway, here we go.**

 **HAha please review it makes my day, and I like making new friends.**

 **Disclaimer: Not mine**

* * *

The Dragonborn knows many commoners, villagers, and they have friends in many places- both high and low. But some pay the price of friendship, no matter how innocent a connection they may have. For those who befriend one with a destiny as tangled and twisted as the Dragonborn are bound to trip in the strands of fate which trail behind.

* * *

The Dragonborn smiles, face upturned to the sun. The last time they were here was three years ago. So much has happened since then… it's still hard to believe that three years have gone by, though. At the inn, the owner directs them to the house directly next to the General store. Pawn shop. Whatever they call it, the Dragonborn is never exactly sure. They've been to far too many places in the short time they've been in Skyrim. A taste of home would be nice, though, which is why they've made a short detour at this town. They knock on the door, waiting for an answer. The sound of pattering feet informs them that yes, someone is at home. A child of around six opens the door, her face glowing and blonde wisps of hair somewhat askew. Directly behind her, the Dragonborn can see a tall blond man come racing down the hall, yelling.

"Cali, you get your little- self back here! We've told you not to open the door to strangers!"

The Dragonborn laughs, and savors the look of surprise on the man's face as he registers the fact that there is someone standing in the doorway. The man comes a bit closer, and pushing Cali behind him, studies the Dragonborn. A second later, his face breaks out into a wide grin, which is quickly followed by an embrace.

"My friend, it's been so long! Don't tell me.. You're the one they call Dragonborn."

They nod, laughing once more at the look of satisfaction on the man's face. He leads the Dragonborn inside, shutting the door, and upon turning calls to his wife.

"Risa, we have a visitor! My old friend, from Whiterun. The one that saved my life during the bandit raid! Remember, I gave them my necklace as the return favor? To ward off those cursed vampires."

Risa comes around the corner, smiling. She has a sword in hand, and seeing the look of slight amusement on the Dragonborn's face, she flushes and puts it back.

"I know, I know. It needs polish. That was just what I was doing." Quicker than an arrow, she turns to her husband.

"Var, you idiot, did you make sure the door was locked? You know that Cali loves getting out."

He sheepishly rubs the back of his neck, and after a sharp look from Risa dashes from the room to accomplish his task. Cali peers around the corner at his retreating back, but when she catches the Dragonborn looking at her, she quickly darts around the corner. A bit of her yellow dress sticks out behind the door frame, which a small hand quickly whips out of sight.

The Dragonborn shoots an inquisitive look at Risa. She grins, and explains.

"You remember Cali, I'm sure? She takes after her father, I'm afraid. A little slow sometimes, but an absolute sunshine. Cali! Come out and say hello to our guest!"

The blonde head peeks around the corner once more, this time followed by a body edging slowly into the room. The little girl quickly scuttles over to her mother, hiding behind the long skirts. The Dragonborn smiles, and Risa moves out of the way. They extend their hand to the little girl, and after a moment of hesitation, she puts her hand in their palm. A strong handshake seals the deal, and only moments afterwards she is jabbering on about her upcoming birthday celebration.

"I think she might remember you," Risa notes. "She was only three, true, but you make… a bit of an impression, what with the armor and all. We didn't get too much of that around here at the time, remember? What a sleepy town this was."

The Dragonborn nods, turning to Var who has entered the room. He backs up the statement, sweeping his hand around the room.

"The guards are everywhere now. We can't go a day without some sort of incident. If someone doesn't bring an end to that blasted-" He remembers that Cali is in the room, and stops for a second. "- Civil war, we'll never be able to get any peace. And, before you ask, no we're not partial to the Imperials or the Stormcloaks. All we truly care about is keeping each other safe."

Var glances over at Cali, who has by now formed a bit of an attachment to the Dragonborn. They are somewhat at loss of what to do with the child clutching their leg, but they agree good-naturedly. The conversation lulls, and in the silence, Cali's stomach growls.  
Var and Risa make lunch shortly, and afterwards Cali shows the Dragonborn around the small farm. There are plenty of beehives, and she explains rather excitedly that "Honey cakes are the best! The bees know my birthday is coming, so they are making honey for me!"

Risa asks the Dragonborn of their adventures that night, and the little one falls asleep to tales of dragons and their fire.

The next few days pass uneventfully, and as her birthday draws closer, Cali gets more and more excited. She asks the Dragonborn if she can see a dragon for her present. The Dragonborn answers with a definitive no, but her attention quickly seizes on a more realistic goal.

"A sword! So I can fight the dragons!"

The Dragonborn sees nothing wrong with this request, especially since they have a wooden one on them, so they confer with Risa and Var. Var is a little more reluctant than Risa in agreeing to it, but in the end they both have no problem with it. As long as it's wooden.

The Dragonborn takes one of their own swords, an impressive length of enchanted daedric weapon, and works all week to make it light enough for a youth to wield. They give the parents both the enchanted weapon and the wooden sword, and ask if perhaps they could give the real one to Cali when she is sixteen. They don't expect to live that long, and so Risa and Var accept the weapons.

Cali, of course, is very excited about the possible, wooden, sword. Her parents don't tell her about the other one, but to the child it makes no difference. The Dragonborn, unfortunately, is forced to leave before she receives her gift, but several weeks later they are gifted a honey stained letter from a smiling courier.

"Little girl wanted me to give this to you. I almost didn't believe it, when she said her friend the 'Dragon- dragon fighter… dragonborn?' had given her a sword to 'fight dragons.' Did you really?"

Cali smiles and waves to Risa and Var. She wants to go fight dragons, this time for real. Of course, her parents don't need to know that. They think she's on her way to Gloria's house, just beyond the mountain. But it's been eleven years since she got her first sword, and she has been training the entire time. She knows how to fight and now, since she has a good sword, she'll be able to take on anything that is thrown in her way. After all, it's going to be her birthday in a few days. Cali briefly thinks back to the mysterious stranger, her father's friend. The Dragonborn. She never did see them again. But inwardly, she thanks them. After all, without them, she wouldn't be the strong young woman she is today. She wouldn't have the destiny of a warrior. So, hoisting her pack onto her back, she sets out.

Three bears and a sabre cat later, Cali is feeling a little less optimistic. Perhaps it wasn't the best idea to go alone. She rests by a large tree, checking to make sure there aren't any other threats nearby. She's heard tales of spriggons, and so makes sure to check for those as well. The women in her village say that an offering of nirnroot will appease the spriggons, and so she retrieves the plant from her pack. Shifting the soft soil, she nestles the roots in the ground, and steps back pace to examine her handiwork. Nothing happens, but it can't hurt to be careful. She leans back against the tree, closing her eyes for a second, and breathes in. And as she does so, something lands with a gigantic thump on the ground in front of her.

Cali screams, seeing the gigantic form which is staring her down, and it breathes in as she had done so only seconds ago. She dives out of the way, and watches from her side as scorching dragon fire passes over her pack, and obliterates it. Jumping to her feet, she rushes the beast, stabbing the scales on its neck while it's distracted with the fire. The sword goes in an inch, then sticks. She yanks it free as the dragon begins to turn its head, and pelts to the back, slashing at the tail, legs, and then stomach. Only the tail is a successful strike, which chops of the very end. The dragon, enraged, spins around, and she finds herself facing rows of jagged teeth.

"Oh no," she whispers, dropping her sword, and the dragon's mouth open and flames spew from inside.

Cali succumbs to the flames of a dragon's ire, and her ashes sigh in the winds. There will be no more honey cakes for her birthday, she thinks as she goes. It is too hot for the bees.

* * *

Ink stains his fingers. Grimacing, Rίs puts the quill to his lips, anxiously nibbling at the feathers on the end. It's kind of a stereotypical thing to do, he reflects, but then he remembers the situation at hand, and quickly gets back to writing. Four months ago, his best friend, Laen went missing. They had been out at the lake together, trying to see who could catch a slaughterfish faster, when some Thalmor had shown up. The elves were creepy, if that was the right word, in the way they were able to practically melt out of the trees. It was as if they were made of moonlight, the way they moved… or perhaps shadows. Laen had smiled at them, as had Rίs, and they had continued to fish. The Thalmor had asked for directions to the nearest inn, the two friends had sent them towards it, and they were gone. Rίs had thought nothing of it at the time. In fact, the two had joked with each other, about being Talos worshipers, about the elves, and about the poor folks at the inn who would have to put up with the grim elven warriors. It wasn't until a day or so after Laen had gone missing that Rίs had remembered the amulet Laen was wearing.

When Laen first went missing, they hadn't thought too much of it. He was always off in the hills for whatever reason, typically attempting to domesticate the wolves. It wasn't really working, but it was fun to watch. So on the second day of his absence, Rίs went up to the pine grove. It's a small and secluded area high in the mountains which is usually frequented by wolves, for a stream runs through the clearing and many deer and elk like to gather to drink. Some years before his disappearance, Laen and Rίs had been up to the mountains to see what were the best areas for hunting. They had found the pine grove, and had proceeded to claim it as their hideout and hunting ground. Rίs had figured that if Laen was going to have gone off, it would be to go hunting… or domesticate the wolves.

But Laen wasn't there. Neither were the wolves, deer, elks, or any wildlife for that matter. In fact, it was almost eerily silent, with the wind being the only thing he could hear, despite being high enough in the mountains to typically hear at least the sound of approaching rain, or birds. But there was nothing. It was as if the wildlife in that one area had completely disappeared. His face had paled with the absence of sound, and Rίs had suddenly realized that something was terribly wrong.

From the trees on the left side of the clearing, something rustled. Rίs had turned to face it, and as he did so, a towering figure sprang out of the bushes, heading straight for him. He stood, transfixed, staring straight into crimson eyes. His strength had fled, and he fell to his knees in face of the draining power of the vampire. It bent over him, and he remembers the terror of something beyond evil, trying to take his soul. As it had done so, though, someone else had burst from the trees, and they shot a bolt of lightning into the back of the vampire. It had turned, going after the figure, and Rίs got to his feet with a feeling of relief. And he had fled.

He doesn't remember what the run through the trees was like, or how exactly he came to that place, but he does remember skidding to a stop. He looked around, taking in the light, forgetting his previous fear. The trees were knitted above his head in a basket type pattern. Bits of light had filtered in through the trees, and played along the edge of metal which lay in the center. After going closer, he had seen a shrine of sorts, covered in moss. Once, perhaps, it had had carvings, but with age they had worn off. At the base, something metal glinted from the tall grasses.

Brushing them back, he recalls feeling astonishment. A blade, forged of some material he had never seen in his life had laid there. He remembers picking it up, forgetting about the oddity of finding a shrine in these woods, and brushing off the dirt and dust. It shone with some sort of enchantment, though he wasn't- still isn't- able to discern what type of enchantment had been placed there. Stowing the sword in his pack, he had turned and left, heading East, to home. On the way he had tripped and fallen over something. It was soft, and he had realized with no little disgust that it was the body of the vampire. He had hurried onward as fast as possible, wishing to get away from the wretched creature, and had made it back to his village in good time. Upon arriving, there was quite a crowd gathered in front of the inn. He pushed his way to the front, and after some inquiry was told that a stranger had come to town. The throngs had dissipated after realizing that the stranger would not be coming out anytime soon, which thankfully left Rίs able to go inside without being shoved out of the way. He climbed the steps as quickly as possible, bursting in through the front doors with as much force as he possessed.

"Father!"

His father had looked up from where he was cleaning the mugs, with a good deal of concern. In front of him sat a figure that Rίs had most certainly seen before. The stranger from the woods was sitting at the counter, still fully clad in their armor, and was speaking in low tones to his father. They looked up as he came in, and tilted their head to the side. Or at least, their helmet. He couldn't see their face beneath the spiked monstrosity of their armor. The breastplate glowed a vibrant red, and he realized with a wince that the glow faded in and out. Like a heartbeat, part of him thought. Shaking his head, he pointed a finger at the stranger.

"You. I saw you earlier. Were you the one who killed that-" remembering his father was in the room, he hesitated to say the word. It would only make him more apprehensive. "- thing?" He ended weakly, hoping his father wouldn't notice the momentary pause in conversation.

Soft laughter floated across the room, accompanied by a small motion. The stranger reached into their pack and pulled out an amulet.

" Do you know anything about this?"

He shook his head, and the stranger put it back, frowning.

"I would speak with your son alone, if that is alright."

The stranger addressed Rίs's father, and with a slight churning in his stomach, Rίs watched as his father put the mug and cloth down, and exited the room.

"Of course, Dragonborn, if you think it will help."

The quiet words were the last thing he heard before his father shuts the side door, and Rίs is left alone with the stranger. Or, perhaps, the Dragonborn. They both started at once, speaking in unison. The Dragonborn motioned him to go on, and Rίs recounted what happened to Laen, and his subsequent venture into the woods. He left out the part with the sword and the shrine, though. Some things are too personal to share with a complete stranger. The Dragonborn nodded as if they'd heard all of what he said before, and explained that they had been tracking a group of Thalmor when they had run into the vampire. They had retrieved the amulet from its body, and had been wondering if anyone would know how it got there.

"Why?" Rίs inquired, frowning a bit. "Is it yours?"

The Dragonborn frowned at their pack, and in a voice even quieter than his father's, they whispered, "It was."

Rίs didn't push it any further than that. He saw that the topic was painful, and he quickly changed the subject to something that had been on his mind.

"My friend, Laen… what if the Thalmor saw his amulet?'

The Dragonborn nodded, confirming his suspicions.

"They must have. Tonight, I am going to seek out the Thalmor stronghold. I know there is one around here somewhere. If your friend was indeed wearing that amulet, then I have no doubt that he has been taken by the Thalmor. If you wish, perhaps write him a short letter so that I may pose as a guard, delivering a message. I can scout out the interior, perhaps deliver your message to its actual recipient, and return with enough weapons to level the place." In a slightly lower voice, they add, "It's worked before."

Rίs had grinned, admiring the audacity of the stranger, and had returned to his room. The plan was to meet on the outskirts of town around ten at night, with his letter. He didn't have to write anything much, just something nonspecific, that the Dragonborn could try and use as a way to breach the fortress.

Easier said than done, Rίs thinks, ruefully. Something general, the Dragonborn had said. But he also wants to be able to tell his friend that help is coming. Or at least not to worry. Finally, inspiration strikes, and he finishes the short note, making sure to mimic the handwriting he's seen on the notices around town. It wouldn't do to have his new ally caught because of a fault in the handwriting, or something similar. Folding the note, he stands, brushes off the hunter's leggings he's wearing, and checks the time. Nearly ten. Slipping on his boots, he rushes out of the house, shouting a brief explanation to his father, who is standing beneath the stairs and clearly wondering at all the confusion.

Rίs pauses at the front door, and instinctively sniffs the air. Something feels… off. As if the town is holding its breath. Breathing in- like the town, he thinks- he opens the door to the silent street and slips off into the night. While the streets are dark, the moon lights his way, and he reaches the appointed meeting spot without issue. The Dragonborn is already there, looking a little awkward in their elven armor. They hold out their hand for the note, and Rίs is about to place it in their hand when their expression morphs into one of shock and horror. Rίs spins around, and misses the warning shout from behind as he finds himself staring straight into at least six drawn bows. An ambush, he thinks, and opens his mouth to call to the rest of the town. He doesn't get a chance.

Rίs falls to the ground, pierced by Thalmor arrows, and a note clutched in his hand, ink staining his fingertips. Laen's name is upon his lips, and his last thoughts turn to that peaceful afternoon before it all began. They never did catch any slaughterfish.

* * *

Mikha doesn't particularly care for the large cities, especially ones full of people. Empty ones… those are scary, yes, but at least they aren't full of beings who can't pull their head out of their- he stops himself rather quickly. It isn't exactly nice to curse people out, even if they are idiots. He walks into the inn at the end of the street, one of the only establishments that seems to be almost devoid of people, and orders a drink. Resting his head upon the table, he doesn't notice the approach of large feet. They stop at his table, and he only senses something slightly amiss as the being slides into the seat across from him. Mikha glances up, in slight surprise, and into the face of someone who looks half troll. He freezes, not saying anything, and the thing in front of him grins. He doesn't run, and doesn't look down as the being begins to speak.

"You're in my bar, little one."

Mikha looks at him coldly, then glances to the doorway. It opens, almost silently, and the wind seemingly blows in a tall, lean figure. They glance in his direction before taking a seat at the other end of the bar. Great, he thinks, no help from that quarter. As it is, the bartender looks terrified by the great brute in the seat before him, and there seem to be no other patrons. He turns his attention back to the thing before him.

"What do you want from me?"

The man- by now he has realized that the person in front of him is not a troll, but an exceedingly ugly human- dons a shrewd look.

"This is my territory, clearly. I want you to get out of here."

"I've paid for my drink already." Mikha isn't going to be scared off that easily, especially not by some halfwit with troll blood.

The man leans forward, and pulls out a small knife, shoving it towards Mikha. Behind him, the man who blew in with the wind has gotten to his feet, and looks ready to leave.

"You need to leave now. I can't have some tiny kid challenging me on my own turf."

Mikha swallows, realizing he has backed himself into a bit of a corner. Too stubborn to back down, he merely glares at the man in front of him, until the other decides that their miniature staring contest has gone on long enough. He brings the knife directly up to Mikha's neck, and begins to cut a shallow but painful line on the left hand side. Mikha closes his eyes, hoping that maybe the problem will go away if he thinks hard enough, and as if on cue, the pain stops. There's a smacking sound, and a soft thud, and then all is silent. Opening his eyes back up again, he sees the slim man from before standing behind the chair. The brute with the knife is slumped over, and the tall man is rubbing his knuckles. Mikha can inference what happened, but as he goes to thank the man, about six or seven men built just like the one slumped over in the seat step into the bar. The joking and laughing stops all at once, as their eyes alight on the still form in the chair. Mikha doesn't hesitate, and, grabbing the other man's hand, runs for his life.

The two manage to make it past the people in the door, and they dart out into the street. The taller man takes the lead as soon as they get out, swinging left into an alleyway. Another left, then right, and then straight ahead, passing by the urchins and beggars of the street. After what seems like forever, but is probably only a few endless minutes, they come out onto a completely different section of the town. Here, Mikha releases the other man's hand, and they both lean over panting.

"Ha, uh, thank you." He's quite out of breath from their sprint through town, but he does manage to choke out his thanks. Now that they are in the open, he gets a much better look at his compatriot. Tall and slim, the other man looks as if the slightest gust of wind could knock him over. Long, white blond hair tumbles across his shoulders, before meeting in the middle of his back with a small black ribbon binding it in place. A dark cloak fell across his shoulders, and Mikha was once again struck by just how tall he was.

"What's your name?"

The stranger regards him in slight amusement, before answering.

"I'm Ciel. I can see you staring, don't try to hide it. Yes, the height thing is not magical. No, I'm not a wight. And I must say, that was quite an idiotic move you pulled back there. Why didn't you comply with his demands?"

Mikha flushes, knowing that the man is right, and straightens up.

"The same could go for you, Ciel. Why endanger yourself for a complete stranger?"

The other man pauses, and winces, turning his head away. His actions shouldn't be cause for such a reaction, but it's obviously a touchy subject. Mikha drops it, not wanting to provoke his new acquaintance. The two of them sit in silence for a minute, catching their breath and regaining their stamina. Finally, Ciel looks back at him.

"What do you say we get a drink at a slightly less… problematic establishment."

Mikha laughs, and the two of them set out on a search for the nearest inn.

A few hours later, both of them are thoroughly satisfied with their drink, and consider themselves fast friends. (This could be a result of the drink, but they'll never know.) They've pooled enough money to rent a room- though the woman at the counter looks at them strangely when they ask for a room with two beds. Once inside, Ciel sits down fully clothed, and watches as Mikha unpacks and prepares for sleep. A sheaf of papers which have been placed on the nightstand catch his eye, and he sends a query in Mikha's direction. Mikha glances down at the items in question, and looks back up, smiling.

"These? I- I have a friend at home. She loves to paint. So before I left our home, she made all of these landscapes, based off of… places she's seen. I promised her that every time I came to a place that looks like one of her paintings, I'd write something about what it's like, and I how I'm doing. I'm actually in this city for her. She's sick, and wants me to find something for her. But that's neither here nor there. What about you?"

Ciel notices the small breaks in conversation, but doesn't question it. Mikha's last question takes him by surprise, but he doesn't answer. Finally, he takes off his boots and flops over on the bed. Mikha doesn't expect an answer, and so he finishes setting his stuff up and curls up in bed. After a few minutes of quiet, Ciel says "Here's the thing."

He automatically stiffens at the unexpected sound, but doesn't turn around. A soft rustling alerts him that the other man has righted himself on the bed.

"I'm here for reasons I… I really can't explain. You'd run away screaming. Better that you find whatever it is for your girl at home and be on your way."

A soft whisper follows this statement, "And it's not like you could help, anyway…"

Mikha immediately turns over, staring at the man in the bed across from him.

"Try me."

Three hours later, the two are finally asleep, having exhausted their conversation topic. What Mikha has learned, so far, is that his new companion is turning into a vampire. A former Vigilant of Stendarr, he was cursed during a vampire attack. However, unlike the typical affliction which vampires give to others, praying at shrines has not made it go away. The only thing it seems to have done so far is stave off the full transition. He's been attacked and harassed rather than receiving help, and so far hasn't been able to find any shrines in this city. But he's looking for a cure, and Mikha wonders if he can do anything. Either way, there isn't much he can currently do, and so they have both fallen asleep.

A few days pass in a similar fashion to the first- that is, picking fights with strangers, heavily drinking, and in between the two, trying to find a shrine. Ciel is getting desperate, and he goes off every once in a while, when the amount of people gets too overbearing. And it is when he is off on one such excursion that Mikha meets the Dragonborn.

Ciel and Mikha have been keeping an unobtrusive eye on the entrance to the first tavern they were in, the one which nearly got Mikha killed. So it's to his surprise when, as he swings past, he notices someone going into the tavern. They look fairly competent, but he can't be too sure. So, pulling up his hood, he steps in through the doors. Like Ciel, he makes sure to enter quietly, and slips over into the corner.

The other person takes a seat near to where he was sitting for their first encounter, and he inwardly winces, remembering the feel of the knife against his throat. The person, who, he notes, is in full daedric armor, orders something from the bartender. And then, like with Mikha, the troll looking man emerges from a different seat. He almost starts out of his seat, but instead settles back down, waiting to see what happens. The same thing happens as last time, but when the man pulls a knife, the stranger stands up. The man looks satisfied, having driven an unwanted visitor out of his bar, and then slumps over the table. The stranger is holding the pommel of their sword in the air, having clearly hit the other man. From the front of their armor, Mikha glimpses an amulet, which has fallen out in the miniature combat .The stranger turns and walks out of the bar, leaving anyone and everyone else left to stare.

Mikha gets up and hurries out, quickly pursuing the ever disappearing stranger. Finally, he's able to come up behind him and he grabs their shoulder. The stranger whips around, staring. Then, just for a second, it seems as if their helmet grins. It's horrifying, and he almost lets go as a result, but instead he still hangs on.

"Your amulet."

The stranger nods at him, bringing it out from their armor in a smooth motion. It looks like an Amulet of Stendarr, but Mikha notices something off about it.

"Please, I have this friend… he needs help- your amulet, shrines, do you know of any?"

They look down at him, and then lead him off into a smaller alleyway. It's quieter in there, and while the stranger doesn't remove their helmet, Mikha is still able to hear what they're saying.

"I'm going to assume you don't have any idea of the importance of who exactly I am. But I am the Dragonborn, regardless of whether you know it or not. To get straight to the point, my amulet has the ability to function similarly to a shrine. It removes diseases. Why does your friend need it?"

Mikha stares for a second.

"He's being turned into a vampire. The shrines won't cure him, for some reason, but they keep it from progressing. There doesn't seem to be a single shrine in this place, though, and it's been nearly a week."

The Dragonborn looks at the amulet, then up at Mikha. And then they remove it and hand it over.

"Your friend may be in serious trouble. Tell him to meet me in the city directly south of here. I have a friend there who may be able to help him, and if I call in a favor or two we might be able to help him. But why are you here? You don't seem like the traveling type."

Mikha bristles at the minor insult, but doesn't complain. After all, they just gave him something to ward of Ciel's turning and a possible cure.

"There's this woman at home. She's looking for… a planted star. Something she saw long ago. I'm trying to find it for her, since she's sick. But, uh, thank you. For my friend. I hope it works."

The Dragonborn seems to smile- he can't tell underneath their helmet. And they disappear, in a flash of light, leaving Mikha to wonder if what had just happened was real. But the amulet in his hand is real. He closes his fingers around it, and rushes back to the tavern, hoping to find Ciel.

Ciel is there, as he hoped, but he's packing to leave. Something seems slightly different in his eyes, as if they're a little saturated with red. Mikha comes up behind him, and puts his hand on his shoulder. Ciel spins around, reaching at his waist for a dagger, which isn't there. Mikha withdraws his hand, and offers up the amulet.

"It acts like a shrine."

Ciel looks at him blankly, but slowly takes the amulet. He smiles as it fastens around his neck, and he claps Mikha on the shoulder.

"Thank you. I can feel the progression stop. But I have to go, my friend. The people here are getting too curious about what exactly I've been doing at night. Which, mind you, is usually sleeping, but they're a little superstitious."

Mikha laughs, and relates what the Dragonborn told him. Ciel's eyes light up with the knowledge that he might be able to be cured, and he clasps Mikha's hand before shouldering his pack.

"I can never thank you enough for this. Please, if you ever need materials or supplies or something, I have a house… here." Pausing to retrieve a quill, some ink, and parchment from the desk, he scribble down a location. "If you ever find yourself in the area, take what you need. And who knows? Maybe I'll be cured by then, and I'll be at home."

And so they part ways.

In the months that follow, Mikha does wonder if Ciel managed to be cured. It gives him some semblance of hope, even while he's navigating the darker reaches of the land, or the icy mountains. And he does manage to find what he's looking for, in the end. But not even the most stout of heart can outlast evil forever, and Mikha collapses at last, finally giving into the biting cold and stinging winds of the mountains. And of course, the weariness of his journey. Blue lips, a blue face, and blue flowers. And a blue ribbon, to make it home safe and sound.

* * *

Ciel doesn't exactly remember getting infected. It's kind of hazy to recall, like a bad childhood memory, or a dream that continues to slip away despite all attempt made otherwise. But he remembers what it was like directly afterward. Staggering away from the zone of the fight, feeling like he was going to throw up. Remembering what exactly had happened, and then losing it. He remembers disgust, with himself, and then dawning realization. Praying to Stendarr for help, and getting none, in any way. Trying to cure himself with the shrines, and nothing happening. And then, leaving the Vigilants. He had worn a dark cloak, which kept him from the sunlight, and had started wandering. But shortly after leaving, he had realized what the shrines actually did. They might not have cured the affliction altogether, but they stopped the progress before he became a true vampire. It isn't something to be too happy about, but it's better than becoming a mindless vampire.

And then he meets Mikha. An incident with some guy who, Mikha later noted, looked a bit like a troll had thrown them together, and they had spent about a week wandering the city together. The other man had found out about his curse almost the first night- the first night? They had spent that fairly uneventful week looking for shrines around the city, (which had been unsuccessful), drinking, (very successful), and trying to stay out of the way of the locals. But at the end of the week, he could feel the curse growing stronger and stronger. He had needed to find shrine, but hadn't been able to. So he had left. But before he had gone, Mikha had given him an amulet. Which would stave off the effects of the vampirism, and a tip to go to a different city, to be healed. Ciel hadn't even known what to say, except "thank you." A gift like that… his humanity, well, Mikha deserved more than he could give.

But things had gone wrong almost as soon as he had stepped out of town. Apparently the people he had noticed looking suspicious earlier had been a lot more paranoid than he had thought. They hadn't waited to see his intentions after they had caught him before calling the Thalmor in. And the Thalmor hadn't waited to hear his intentions before whisking him off to some forsaken prison in the middle of nowhere. They take his weapons, his map, and in the end, his amulet. The thing is, since they didn't listen to his story, they had no idea that he was a vampire. And so Ciel is stuck in a prison, where he is unable to stop himself from turning into the creatures which he has tried so hard to destroy. And then he meets Laen

The young man is dragged in one day, and is hastily deposited next to Ciel. He's got a large cut on his head, and is somewhat groggy. Ciel is relatively worried for the younger man, and he asks him why the Thalmor have taken him. The young man, as it turns out, has been taken under the charges of being a Talos worshiper. Ciel can relate, since the amulet the other was wearing is only a family heirloom, rather than an actual symbol of worship. Being wrongly accused is something Ciel has had plenty of dealings with. Unfortunately, he can't control any of that, and so the two are stuck in a cell.

But Ciel can't stop himself from turning, and while Laen knows about his situation, there is nothing he can do. The curse continues to take him over every day, which is terrifying. He can feel his hold on sanity slowly slipping, and the poor young man is absolutely terrified. Apparently, when he falls asleep, he has no control over what happens. Laen has had to fight him off at least once every night, and his eyes glow, and, well, it's horrifying to think that all this happens while he sleeps. But Laen is seemingly okay with everything that happens, and Ciel can only thank the Divines that he hasn't killed the young man yet. And then the Thalmor come back for him. They take him out into the hallway, and slam the door on Ciel's queries. Later that day, he hears screams.

Laen doesn't return.

After that, he has no way of knowing what happens at night. But he does know that it gets worse and worse. He wakes up to bloodied cell walls, with no idea how they became like that. The bars of the door are sometimes bent when he wakes up, and the floors are scratched. Typical food tastes horrible, and he starts wondering what the blood on the walls would taste like.

The Thalmor come again, wanting to know why he isn't eating. He tells them it's because honestly, blood tastes better than water right now, and could they please bring in some rats or something? They slam the door in his face, and leave. But they come again. And again. And then, one of them brings the amulet. He doesn't see it as an amulet, exactly. It glows to him, beckoning with the promise of humanity. Of a future without feeding on humans. So he attacks them. One weakened prisoner, however, isn't quite enough to overpower all of them. And inside his heart he feels something pulsing. Like it wants to break out, explode. At first he tries to keep a lid on it, but as the Thalmor kick him and beat him, he has no choice. He lets it go.

Ciel laughs, a guttural scream almost, and collapses to his knees. The thing that looks up is no longer human, and its eyes flash in the darkness. The Thalmor scream and run, but they're too slow to escape the wrath of a blood starved vampire. It takes back the amulet, not that it has any attachment to that anymore, and proceed to blast its way through the prison, killing anything and everything that gets in its way.

The amulet flashes in the sunlight as the vampire makes its way outside. And with the birth of this monster, so does Ciel meet his end.

* * *

Once upon a time, there was a girl who was sick. Not always in the body, though. And she remembered colors, not names. When she was very young, she had made a shrine. A secret place to go, whenever the colors left. They were always there, in that small shrine in the woods. Vibrant green, and yellow. And darkness, for the light was never alone. There were branches overhead. She had tamed them, and they made a roof for her.

It had taken years to grow the branches. Now, many more years later, she does wonder. Do they look like a giant's basket? Or perhaps the ropes which bound them fell of, and now the trees grow as tall as they did before she harnessed them. Once, in those woods, she had seen a dragon. A real dragon, not just her mind creating more pointless fantasies. She knows this because there was a girl there, too. The girl planted something blue, which glowed like the stars at night. And the girl had screamed when she saw it. That was how Kara knew at first. People don't scream at things the mind creates. And then, she burned. And there was the color. Kara remembers the color. It was very reminiscent of something she had seen very long ago. Before they had taken her. It shone, like the plant, and the girl dropped something as she cried.

Kara had crept over to the girl when the dragon left. But the girl was no longer there. Ashes there were, instead, and the thing she had dropped. When she picked it up, something felt wrong, and her finger was like the anger of the dragon. Except darker, and unmoving. She had licked it, and wondered at the taste. A taste like metal, and like fear, and hatred. She didn't like it that much, but the color went away as soon as she licked it, and she cried because it was gone. The thing which had made the cut… she hadn't known it for a sword at the time, it had whispered to her. It told her of the color, and how many times it had tasted the color, and why it tasted like hate. Kara brought it to her shrine. It liked the green. Too much of the other color was tiring, it said. She visited it almost every day, and it told her about the girl who had planted the star. And the name of the one who had made the sword itself lighter, the name of the one the girl wished to follow. The girl could have been special, it said. Kara asked it if she was special as well. The sword hummed, but it didn't answer her question. That was the last time she saw her shrine, and the sword.

They had taken her away the next day. Her room turned into a house, but it was all the same to her. It was locked, like her room had been. But this time something was different, something very important. There were no windows. Her little room had once had a window. That was how she visited her shrine. The new place was bigger, but the colors were the same, and the windows were gone. That's how she learned to paint. The ingredients in the cellar were enough to make the color of the sky, or at least how she remembered the sky.

When her Keepers came back next, she made Them go get her real paint. And They had. Her house without color had turned into a splash of everything. Some, she could not name. Some she could. But she could never get two colors right. The first was the color of the star. No matter how close she came, the brilliance of the star was always missing, and then she remembered the how the girl looked, which was bad. The girl looked like the color, a little bit, the one of hate. The one that the sword made. Oh, she found things which were close. "Red" they said, but it was not quite right. Kara could never quite make Them understand what she wanted, but then again, They never seemed to understand what she said. She wondered if They spoke the same language. Surely, if They knew she wanted to see her shrine, They would let her leave.

Something changed, though. The Keepers came less and less, and They started wearing Their faces differently. Faces like the girl's. She could see the color around Them, like a cloud, and it made the air smell funny. And They moved quickly, and they started adding things to her door. She knew what They were doing, she could hear the scraping behind the door. But then They stopped coming altogether. Her food supply ran short, then ran low, then dwindled into the color of shade and was gone.

Once upon a time, there was also a young man. And after the cradle of leaves had grown around the ropes Kara had tamed, during the time when she began to turn her house into the sky, he began to fight. And once upon a time, there were villains, who would keep people away. Who kidnapped women and men and children who they thought were dangerous. And his parents had been taken by them, so he picked up a sword and a shield and met steel with steel. The young man fancied himself a hero, and when he defeated the villains, he met a princess as well. And the princess was sick. Not always in her body, though. He asked to help her, and to his surprise, the princess let him. So they taught each other. She taught him of the things she saw and heard, and she taught him of colors and of shadows. He gave her names for all the things she spoke of, and after a long time, a very long time, he helped her to stop seeing the evils in the darkness.

Once upon a time, there was a woman who lived in a land of ice and snow with her hero, and she fell very ill. Not just in her mind, but in her body. And she realized she might not make it through the winter, and so she requested three things. The color of the planted star, the color of hate, and the color of the dragon's anger. And so the young man set out to find them for her, with a blue ribbon in his hair, to make it home safely.

He didn't.

Once upon a time, there was a woman who read too many stories, and who waited for her prince to find her a star. When he didn't come back, there was a woman who burned her colors in the dead of night, and stared at the the flames, and realized that she had asked the impossible for the last time. She left that night, taking one of the pieces to her puzzle with her. The color the dragon had breathed, something she discovered for the first and last time as she burned her paints.

Kara finds her new life as a farmer peaceful, thankfully, and she no longer thinks of the colors. Until a stranger appears at her door. The Dragonborn, they say, and though the name means little to her, she lets them in. But they ask her for the one thing she can't do.

"I need you to paint something for me."

And they detail exactly what she needs to paint, but she cannot. She burned that part of herself long ago, and though she had found one of the colors she was searching for, it seared itself into her soul so painfully that she never wants to relive the colors again. The Dragonborn sees this in her eyes, and they smile softly, reaching into their pouch. Kara tenses, ready to deal with a dagger or a threat, but instead they pull out a small apothecary's satchel. And they say, "I met someone, once, who said you were searching for the planted star."

She nods, for what else can she do.

And from their bag, they pull out the plant from her memories. It isn't as bright as she remembers, but the color is the same. Reaching across the table, she cradles it in her palms, and her eyes shine with the light she once possessed inside.

"Please Kara, help me."

So she does. They have brought her the second piece of her puzzle, the one that her hero could not find. She mixes and she stirs, and she watches them as they doze off on her kitchen table while waiting for her to finish. It takes three days and nights, but it is done, and she hands the painting to the armor-clad stranger. They nod, bow, and place something else on the table. Another satchel.

"What is this?" Kara doesn't know whether to be anxious about it, or excited.

"Something of yours." And with that, the Dragonborn is gone, out the door in a gust smelling of herbs and metal and lightning. She crosses to the satchel on the table, and with shaking fingers, and collapses as soon as she opens it.

A blue hair ribbon binds a sheaf of paper. Not just any paper, but paintings. Small ones. Pocket sized ones. Of all different places, the mountains, the rivers, snow, fields. On the back of each is a small journal entry. She remembers making these. Their intended purpose. And she remembers sitting down to spin the ribbon out of the color of the sky. She remembers the color of the sky, and the color of his face, and how she had told him that the ribbon was to make it home safe and sound. A muffled sob escapes her lips, and she covers her mouth. How the Dragonborn found these, Kara does not know. But she doesn't particularly care, she reflects, and she begins to read through the first.

The Stormcloaks begin attacking her city one chilly day, similar to the day he left. The Imperials fight back, of course. In the middle of the confusion, citizens run back and forth, searching for escape. The woman with the paints dashes out of a burning house, and heads for the back exit to the city. But on the way, she spots a figure she recognizes.

Kara skids to a dead halt to stare at the Dragonborn, whispering their name, the one the sword had told her in what seemed like another lifetime. And as she does so, a spear protrudes from her gut. Blood, she realizes, was the color she was searching for.


	31. Chapter 31: A new face for the house

**Author's note: Hello! I'm back at last. *I don't think anyone was actually waiting for this but still***

 **I never gave an epilogue to that bit with the vampires and Khilheru, so here it is. My way of tying up loose ends with the characters. (I know, the plot bit I'm talking about was like 6 chapters ago. I got distracted by Solstheim and Aranel...)**

 **I've also been working on editing and fixing up most of the chapters for this story, which basically entails actually editing, fixing minor details, and updating and shortening Author's notes. I'll be updating chapters throughout the week, but t** **here won't be any truly noticeable changes so don't feel pressured to go back and check. They'll simply be a bit cleaner.**

 **Anyway, onto the thing you guys are actually here for.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own the game, etc, etc.**

* * *

Lydia is a bit thrown off when Káno appears at Breezehome without any warning. He had warned her that they might be gone for more than a month, though anything is better than some of the other waits they've had to endure. One month is long, but three is any worse. Four, and without a note or contact in any form was the worst, and she thoroughly scolded him for that. After that, he began sending notes when he was planning to head home, unless it was a day trip or something that would only take a week. Teleporting is a pretty neat ability, and as a result, the need for couriers is often negated simply by how _fast_ Káno is able to travel. So when he shows up without a prior note after two weeks of being gone, and toting a _very_ ill looking Marcurio and some young man who seems dead, she's more than a little shocked.

Lucia and Sofie are the first to spot the strange party. The two are playing in the area outside of Breezehome, and are near enough to see the flash of the teleportation, and with that their (adoptive) father, his companion, and someone else appear in the middle of the street. Lucia, who is older and a bit smarter than Sofie, orders her younger sister inside to find Lydia, and immediately sets off in search of the apothecary. She's got enough spending money, and has the feeling they might be needing as many potions as possible.

Lydia opens the door for a panicked Sofie, who hurriedly explains the strange occurrence, and both rush out onto the street. Káno waves an exhausted hello, and Lydia hustles the group inside as fast as she can. They really don't need any more attention than they already have, what with him being the Dragonborn and all. She sends Káno upstairs to put the poor young soul he's toting into bed- she isn't sure he'll make it, but she'll do her best to see that he's comfortable either way- and forces Marcurio to take a seat before he starts getting in the way. Or collapses or something. Or both. Sighing, she banishes all thoughts of ale, and looks at Marcurio. He's pale, but doesn't seem to be on the brink of death, and is already seeing to whatever wounds he may have. Lydia grimaces, and taking a seat next to him, asks "What the hell happened?"

The mage doesn't speak for a good period of time, during which Lucia comes in and hands Lydia several healing potions, and Sofie barricades herself, Lucia, and the rabbit into their room. For young children, she reflects, the two are remarkably perceptive. Finally, having seen to his wounds, Marcurio explains.

"The lead we were following led to a vampire coven, where Káno's young friend was being held. They managed to capture me, but Káno saved me shortly afterwards and managed to obliterate the coven. He rescued Khilheru- the young man- and we made camp outside the town, which, uh, was burned to the ground. However, we didn't have time to recover, and only had a few hours to rest before we were attacked. Bandits, and then directly afterwards, a dragon. I got a few cuts during the bandit fight, and I know that both Káno and Khilheru were almost frozen to death during the dragon attack. We had no choice but to come here as quickly as possible to tend to our wounds. And I know for a fact that Káno is not doing as well as he lets on, that teleportation magic is draining and he took the worst of the assault during both attacks."

Lydia is silent, taking it in. Marcurio was sparse on the details, but even she can understand a bit of just how bad their side trip must have been for Marcurio to admit to his friend's wounds. Typically, both of them have some stupid self sacrificing sense of pride, and tend to their own wounds while avoiding making any sign of hurt public. It's an idiotic way to live, but it's for their "honor," or so the excuse has gone every time she confronts one of them. Eventually, though, she decides that Káno has been alone with his younger companion for long enough. She stomps up the steps, making sure that her footsteps are loud enough to be heard. She wants to give Káno enough time to compose himself, or at least get ready to deal with people. One of the downsides to having a personality like her Thane does it that he tends to be unprepared to dealing with people, despite having the charisma to be able to turn encounters in his favor. So she makes enough noise to be heard, and by the time she has reached the top of the steps, turned around, and entered the room, Káno is prepared and sitting in a chair next to the bed.

"How is he?"

Káno nods, clearly understanding that she and Marcurio have discussed what happened, and gestures at the bed.

"I'm no master of the healing arts, but he'll live."

Lydia studies her Thane. If possible, he looks worse than before, an ashen tint to what little skin she can see under the armour, and eyes that seem to have lost some of their shine. She isn't sure whether to attribute that to the mental strain of recent events, or injuries he has sustained. Perhaps both. She takes the seat that remains at the table, and the two look at each other for a minute.

"Take off your helmet." Lydia speaks with the quiet authority usually found in the Jarls of the land, or even the healers. They have more in common than other denizens of the land, after all.

Káno hesitates moment, but takes it off as her gaze hardens. He's got quite a bit of blood in his hair, indicating some sort of head wound, which would explain the glassy look he's now giving her. Slowly, he removes the rest of his armour, leaving the under tunic and leggings on. The visible wounds are bad, but don't seem incurable. Until he turns directly towards her and she sees the wound in his stomach.

"How the hell did you get that, and why haven't you done something about it?"

Lydia is a bit angry, and rightly so. It shows in her tone, and Káno flinches back from her harsh tone. She immediately regrets her words, and rather than continuing with that particular line of inquiry, she holds her hands up in a gesture of peace. Getting up rather slowly, she hands him a potion and backs away again. He uncorks it, smells and grimaces, and then downs the entire thing in one gulp. Color comes back almost immediately, and now that some of the pain is gone, is obviously thinking a little more clearly. He immediately grabs some of the healing supplies which are lying on the bed, and heads downstairs to get Marcurio's help with a possible healing spell.

This, however, leaves Lydia alone with Khilheru. Curious, she creeps closer to the bed, studying the young man's features. Slim and pale, with a mop of curly brown hair. The kid has freckles though, evidence of a previous tan. She can see why Káno would want to come after this one. He seems… pleasant, and from what Káno told her about the town that he had failed to save, Khilheru comes from a good area. Even if it's burned to the ground. She's curious as to how the vampire coven got their hands on him, and hopes he'll last long enough for them to be able to ask him. She leans back, settling into the chair next to the bed. From the commotion downstairs, it sounds as if she might have to be the one to keep and eye on his condition. As she gets comfortable, Marcurio's voice rises above the rest of the clatter.

"No, sit down! I told you, I _have_ the healing spell ready! Stop that- no, I want you to stay still- what do you mean you're fine, there's literally a chunk of wood in your stomach, you stubborn fool!"

Lydia chuckles to herself and sits back. At least they'll be fine. And, as soon as she thinks so, there's a sound from the bed. She turns to see large eyes blinking up at her. Khilheru is obviously confused, and she doesn't blame him. Waking to up to the noise downstairs only to find himself in a strange house and bed, with a woman bending over him… it's a wonder the young man doesn't cry out. As it is, he starts and attempts to move over in the bed. A futile effort, considering the amount of blankets and skins Káno has heaped on top. She speaks soothingly, explaining the situation. His look of confusion melts into one of relief and slight amusement, though the edge of wariness is apparent. Lydia grins. He's going to make a fine addition to the house.

* * *

A few days pass in uneventful peace. Káno, Marcurio, and Khilheru are all recovering, relaxing, and sniping at each other because house life does not suite _any_ of them. Lydia and the kids get tired of being caught in the crossfire all the time, and end up spending a good amount of time hanging around town. Lydia even takes them on a short trip to Riverwood, where they are surprisingly well received. As it turns out, Faendal has been talking. The day trip is short and sweet, and she ends up inviting the elf over. Despite whatever reservations she may have with Káno's odd friends.

This, as it turns out, is a mistake. Faendal ends up playing off Marcurio's salty attitude rather well, and the two good naturedly bicker throughout dinner, while Káno and Khilheru spend the entire time in loud discussion over the properties of farm grown plants in potions. Lucia and Sofie have fun for the better part of the evening by jumping into both conversations, with witty comments of their own. Lydia is content to simply watch and make sure that any projectiles are nonlethal. No daggers, swords, axes, spell tomes, or actual arguing at dinner. Thankfully, the talk remains tame, albeit rather serious after the kids go to bed. Faendal is given the entire tale of how they met Khilheru in the first place, and the side of the story that they know which came afterwards. The young man in question jumps in somewhere in the middle, explaining how the survivors of his village had fled to the hills, and resultantly been captured by the vampires. From what Káno tells them, Khilheru is the only survivor of the group that had been captured, and while there might be others, none of them were with the coven.

In all, it's a rather hectic night, and she is fully convinced of at least one thing: they need more women in the house. That and Khilheru is crazy, because from the sound of it, Káno is planning on letting him stay as long as he'd like. And from the way Khilheru responded, it seems that he might be considering taking him up on that offer for as long as possible. Lydia knows she really isn't looking forward to having another person to look after, but oh well. She will always do her best to help her Thane, even if he _is_ the most idiotic person she's ever met. Besides, she likes the kid. He might even be willing to help keep their mutual friend out of trouble, for a while at least.

* * *

 **Relevant question: How would you people feel about a short Q &A? I've got a Tumblr (which is completely unused) that I could put it on. Stuff like character descriptions, what actually happened in chapter 30 because it was a little weird, OC's, plans for the future… all that. Let me know, ask questions, and I'll put one up as a special for chapter 40 if there's enough of a response.**


	32. Chapter 32: Serana

**Author's Note: Hi! It's been a while since I've written anything, mainly due to real life stuff. I'm easing back into it with a drabble introducing... Serana. She seems to be quite the fan favorite, but she won't be sticking around for too long.**

 **I'm still planning on going back and editing previous chapters, as well as possibly re-ordering them. I don't know if that gives an update notice, but if so, ignore it. The next actual chapter should be out on Monday!**

 **Disclaimer: "Skyrim belongs to the Nords"  
And Bethesda**

* * *

A vampire isn't the perfect companion, but Aranel isn't really complaining. The main problem is that their fights, which sometimes occur in the sun, become quite a bit harder when the person fighting alongside you can't really heal themselves. Serana is kind of an exception, because she's so powerful, but it's still kind of an annoyance to have to deal with. Especially during the long fights. It's also a bit of a pain when they're fighting dragons. Everyone knows that vampires are hypersensitive to fire. So fighting outside, with a non-regenerating vampire, against a dragon… it's not the most fun.


	33. Chapter 33: Diablo

**Author's note: So it's been a while... But I'm back. This should be updates about once a week, now, so that's cool. I've been swamped with work recently, so it's the best I can do. Anyway, enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: Not mine**

* * *

He doesn't like horses, as it turns out. This isn't because of some innate hatred of animals, or even a fear of horses (though he knows that Marcurio will not get on one to save his life.) It's because horses hate Káno and there's nothing he can do about it. It's not even that the horses fully hate him, it's more like they just refuse to acknowledge his commands. Perhaps it's because they feel like they're the superior beings. He doesn't know for sure. But the one thing that he can absolutely be certain about is that they do not follow orders. At all.

This truly comes to a head in a Forsworn encounter, in which he needs a hasty getaway from a group of attackers who are just slightly stronger than he is. They've managed to get in a few good hits, and Káno can feel his side begin to drip blood as he calls for the horse. But the horse does not respond. It's stationed somewhere beyond the mob of Forsworn, and he can see it perk up its ears and continue to graze.

"She's a battle horse, this one," he remembers the words of the man at the stable, "and can get you out of a tight spot or two. Good investment for you adventuring types, if ya know what I mean."

Liar, he thinks, and continues to run. At this point it's kind of a futile effort, as the blood has managed to work its way down onto the ground, even through his armor, and is now leaving a trail. Káno regrets telling Marcurio to stay at the base of the camp. He's backed between a rock and a hard place- almost literally, though it's technically some Forsworn and a waterfall, which doesn't bode well for both the immediate and extended future. Káno calls for the horse a final time, and finally, finally, she looks over to where he is. Something seems to activate in the horse, as her head flings up, and she comes charging right towards the group of Forsworn. They turn to look, and with a scream some of them scatter. The few that stay to face the wrath of a charging horse are quickly trampled in her headlong charge, and none of them manage to get even a single strike in. It's almost laughable, how tough the horse is. But, Káno realizes, the horse isn't slowing down. If anything, she's speeding up, ears pricked and eyes wild. He comes to the conclusion, with a slight shock, that the horse does not, in fact, have any intention of slowing down or stopping. It's as if even the sight of his drawn weapon triggers some sort of fight or flight response. Káno fumbles with the sheath, but before he can even get the sword close to sheathed, the horse is upon him.

While Káno might not like the horse, at all, he isn't completely willing to let the animal plummet to its death over a waterfall. If anything, he gauges, he'd be the only one to survive such a plunge. And it's lucky that he makes a quick calculation as to possible places to angle for, because as soon as the horse begins skidding to a stop, and he grabs the reins, the horse bucks and throws him over the edge.

Falling isn't a pleasant sensation. And falling, particularly backwards, isn't something he wants to experience again in his lifetime. Preferably not in the afterlife, either. It isn't that the landing is hard, or that the water is cold. It's the stomach melting feeling of dread that appears as soon as he's airborne, and the sickening realization that the feeling might be the last thing he gets the opportunity to experience. And it's that knowledge that concerns him.

But fate can be kind to the travelers in the world, and he plunges into the water with the force of slamming into a wall. Not something pleasant, but something he's dealt with and has most certainly felt before. The issue is the armor, which weighs him down more than Káno would care to admit. It might, he mentally admits, be a while before he manages to get to the surface again. However, as he begins to attempt to remove one of the pieces of armor weighing him down, a dark shape enters the water, and Káno breathes a sigh of relief. Marcurio.

As soon as they're safely out of the water and, spluttering, lying on safe ground, Káno goes back for the horse. She's next to the shallow pool that the river drains out into, near where they actually ended up. He growls, grabbing the rope attached to her reins, and begins to lead her back to the area with Macurio.

Of course, he reflects, the whole situation could have been avoided if he had only chosen to not rely on the horse.

Or, perhaps, if the horse had been obedient.

Or, even, if Káno had chosen to bring Marcurio along.

Shaking his head, Káno clears his mind of the train of thought. It doesn't matter in the end, does it? At the end of the day, animals will be animals, and falling off cliffs will be dangerous, and he'll be Káno, the traveler with a disobedient horse and sulky mage companion.

He names her Diablo.


	34. Chapter 34: Taxes

**Author's note: Oh man we're not talking about the past few months guys. Not gonna make promises this time- I don't want to disappoint.**

* * *

Sylgja is a less than happy woman when they get the monthly taxes. Aranel's status as Thane definitely doesn't excuse her from paying bills, and she's no exemption to the law when it comes to owning multiple properties, especially those in several different holds. And by now, Aranel has accrued an impressively vast number of properties, with eight in Skyrim itself, and one on the island of Solstheim. While Sylgja has no problem with this- she trusts her wife and isn't the one who has to look after nine houses- it most certainly raises the fines they pay. Housing fees in six of the holds, and property cost in the other three. It's almost annoying, the amount by which their monthly expenses increase every time Aranel buys a new piece of land. And to top it all off, the woman herself has been running around the continent, dragging her increasingly frustrated wife and kids behind, which Sylgja can say she definitely does _not_ appreciate.

The money itself isn't too much of a problem Aranel earns plenty of money from the various… whatever she does, and Sylgja's shop makes quite a bit per day, though nothing remotely rivaling whatever bizarre income Aranel makes. Sylgja knew what Aranel's pseudo-job was when they got married. The warrior was a traveling adventurer, worker for hire, and general worker of any side tasks. Nothing seems to have changed now, and she's simply accepted the fact that her wife is never going to have a stable job, life, or even lodging. As is evidenced by their current state of affairs. When the war struck, and the tide began to turn towards Markarth and the other residences, Aranel had taken them all to Solstheim, left them there, and headed off to do who knows what- Sylgja sure doesn't know. Thinking on it, she does have to concede that their relationship might have communication errors. But at the end of the day, communication, lack thereof, and whatever else one might call it certainly does not help to fix their fiscal state. Because this is the second month in a row that they've gotten some clearly exorbitant fees. And some of them for things that Sylgja doesn't even want to know about.

She sighs, holds the paper to Aranel's training dummy, and stakes it there with a dagger. If her wife doesn't see it by the time the couriers roll around, the warrior can be the one to deal with the officials. Not Sylgja. With a muffled curse, she stalks out of the room, leaving the paper and dagger behind. No use in thinking about it longer than she needs to. The next time she's in the room, the paper is gone, and in its place, a smiling face drawn in some dripping substance. Sylgja doesn't bother to wonder, just smiles back, and goes on with her day.

Next month is the same though, and when the courier arrives, he gives her a sympathetic smile. Sylgja really, _really_ , doesn't want to know. She doesn't even open the letter this time, just tacks it back onto the face of the dummy and carries on. This, too, disappears in time and life goes on. But a few more papers later, and a few more smiling faces, and Sylgja is very done with absences on the part of her wife, continued refusal to acknowledge their financial situation, and flat out lack of communication. Aranel underestimates her, the ex-miner catches herself thinking. If Sylgja could work grueling shifts at the mine with her injury and surrounded by a lifestyle of hardship, then she can definitely convince her wife of, well, several things.

Aranel, recounting the story later, does not find it as funny. There's something to be said about the persistence of her wife, to be sure. It's not every day that somebody can manage to coerce the Dragonborn into taking on a part time job, coincidentally near to their house, and on the most inconvenient days of the week- it's almost impressive.

As it turns out, Sylgja doesn't need to do much. The silent treatment when Aranel got home from one of her long excursions was enough for her wife to snap, and the discussion that followed would have been entertaining, had it been any louder. As it was, she caught Lucia and Sofie peering from around the corridor when they were done, and had been forced to call Aranel back, this time for a family meeting. It had all gone well in the end, and Sylgja is sure that if she makes it that long, it'll be a story to tell; but in the meantime, she has to deal with one sulking wife who is _acting_ like a child, and two _actual_ children. A small part of her mind wants to protest at the fact that she is literally the only one in the house who seems to be capable of acting like an adult, but Sylgja quickly bottles that thought and stashes it in a dusty corner of her mind. She can review that train of thought later, preferably when she needs to get Aranel out the door and into the nearby bar.

There isn't an interview process. In these times, help is as common as it is asked for, which is to say, rare and only in the direst of circumstances. The barkeep seems surprised to have someone volunteer, but takes her up on the offer, and in less than an hour, Sylgja is leaving the establishment with a drink in hand and the satisfaction of a job well done.

She is, in fact, so pleased with the situation, that when Aranel brings home a vampire princess- princess?- she doesn't quite know, with the name of Serana, she isn't even annoyed when her wife announces that the vampire is her new traveling companion, even though they've barely met. She does confess to being annoyed when her wife completely disappears for a while, without so much as a word of warning, and is subsequently hurtled through various states of shock and disbelief when the Dragonborn turns back up after a fortnight, and when finally bathed and rested, explains how she had, technically, died. How she became a vampire, turned back, dealt with the threat of Harkon, eternal night, and had seen into the Soul Cairn itself. It's enough for Sylgja to keep Aranel with her for another week- unwilling to let her wife face danger like this past event, even though she knows that there's not much she, Sylgja, can do. Aranel goes to work, is somehow not fired for her two week absence, comes home, and that's _it_ and Sylgja is so grateful. But this slight reprieve cannot last forever, and soon they're back into the swing of things.

Sylgja, a woman of culture, understands that her wife is busy. She understands that the way they pay property tax may be unconventional, that her measures to keep her spouse at home may be a little out of the ordinary as well, that on occasion Aranel gets into more trouble than is worth. But she doesn't care. Whatever happens, happens, and even though they may not get much time together in Skyrim, she's happy to take what she can get- give or take some interventions. And as long as her wife pays the taxes.


End file.
